


tonight these streets are heaving, with young hearts on the chase

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Bartender Louis, Explicit Sexual Content, I'll add more tags, M/M, Photographer Harry, Recreational Drug Use, Sort Of, it's like if they still went for x factor but never met or got past the first round, its basically just how they might have met and gotten together had they not have been famous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s peaceful, is the thing, sitting here with a takeout box in his lap and Harry under his arm. Louis’ just so content right now, watching him try and pick up his noodles with the little wooden chopsticks, an old episode of Gogglebox playing over Harry’s indie music. It’s not much,they’renot much, spending Friday night inside their small London flat, but they’re in love and that’s enough, he thinks.(Or, an au where Louis and Harry didn’t meet at 16 and 18, didn’t make it past the auditions, didn’t become world-famous millionaires but still fell in love.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 37
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically, it's as if they auditioned like they did but never got put in a band and never met or become famous. there's a song at the start of every chapter and I would definitely recommend listening to that as you read. Louis is 26 here and Harry is 24 but it's based on how they looked around 2017/18, although harry's outfit style is more like it is now.
> 
> title is from You're Not The Only One by Sam Fender. (a lot of his songs are featured in this lol)

_Will_ _ We Talk? - Sam Fender  _

It’s half past nine on a particularly drizzly Wednesday morning and there’s no fucking milk. No, actually, there is milk but it’s tinged yellow-ish and smells of piss and  _ jesus,  _ all Louis wanted was a nice cuppa to soothe his dully aching hangover and he can’t even have that, apparently. 

“Oi, Calvin,” he yells loudly, wincing as his head throbs before slamming the fridge door shut, “we’re out of milk.” 

Pausing on his way to chuck out the rancid carton, Louis strains his ears for an answer. The only sound is the humming of the fridge, the quiet tick of the clock above the kettle and the rain tapping against the window. 

“Right then,” Louis mutters softly to himself, setting the milk down on the table with unnecessary force and storming out of the kitchen, grabbing a lumpy cushion from the sofa before slamming it down on Calvin’s face from where he’s slumped across it, passed out with a bottle of Heineken still clutched in his hand. 

“Wake the fuck up you twat, we haven’t got any bloody milk and I’m skint so chuck us some money, alright?” 

Calvin groans, running one hand over his face and glaring at Louis from in-between his fingers. “Couldn’t have fucking waited, mate? ‘M proper knackered.” 

“What, d’you think I’m skippin’ about? Heading back to bed after this.” 

Calvin rolls his eyes, digging his wallet out of his jeans pocket and handing a few crumpled notes to Louis amongst various mumbles of “inconsiderate tosser” and “I don’t bloody wake you up at arse o’clock”. 

“Cheers, man,” thanks Louis distractedly, shoving the money in his pocket and ruffling Calvin’s hair just to be a dick. He grabs a t-shirt from the hall table and pulls it on, looking at himself in the mirror, quickly running a hand through his own hair before grabbing his keys and jogging out the front door. 

It’s not too cold out, thinks Louis, glancing up at the clouded white sky. In fact, it was just the right temperature for a hangover - crisp, a little chilly and with just a few drizzles of rain pattering on the ground. 

Last night had been a total waste of time anyway; Calvin, Oli and him pissing away the evening and half of the night at the local pub, downing beer after beer until the total will probably cost them that month’s rent. He sighs, walking into Tesco’s and shivering as the heat warms him up. It’ll be a bastard walking back outside later. 

He scours the aisles for a few minutes before ducking down into the tea section and grabbing a few boxes of Yorkshire. Ollie prefers Tetley but, although it’s cheaper, it’s the shittiest tea Louis’ ever had and even Calvin admits it, so. Still, he mentally prepares himself for Ollie’s bitching when he gets back. 

There’s practically no customers so Louis walks up to the checkout quickly, handing the girl behind it the tea and milk. 

She looks at him before smiling a little sympathetically. Well then. To be honest, he can’t really blame her; he looks like a broke, hungover uni student who had a paper due three nights ago and unfortunately only two of those things are true. Louis’ not even getting a degree out of his aching head and worryingly empty bank account. 

“That’ll be £9.50, please,” she says, scanning the barcode and turning to him. 

“Ah, right, sure,” Louis pulls out the money before smiling slightly, realising Calvin accidentally gave him twenty quid instead of ten, “sorry, love, could you grab me a pack of Marlboros? Cheers.” 

She nods and scans one, before reading out the total again, “Cigarettes make it £19.50.” 

He hands over the money and grabs his items, feeling her gaze on him as he walks back into the brisk morning air. 

  
  


As he’d predicted, Oli whines when he sees the Yorkshire tea. 

“God’s sake, Lou, come on, you always get that brand. You know, I’m starting to think you don’t actually like Tetley.” 

Behind him, flicking through God knows what on his phone, Calvin snorts, glancing up at Louis and shaking his head. 

“Yeah, Oli, listen mate, if you’re as oblivious with tea as you were with Melanie, no wonder she cheated on you for so long.” 

Louis laughs, splashing milk into his fresh cup of tea and turning to Oli, who rolls his eyes, flipping Calvin off on his way to the kettle. 

“Dickhead,” he mutters, “and why the hell do you always bring that up?” 

“Because,” Calvin shrugs, “you only liked her ‘cause she was a good shag and it was pretty funny when you walked in on her and her “cousin” half-naked for the third time.” 

Oli glares at him, stirring his coffee and grabbing a slice of toast as it pops out of the old, stained toaster. 

“Oh, come on, Calvin, ‘s not Oli’s fault,” grins Louis, sitting down by the kitchen table and pulling out his phone. 

“ _ Thank  _ you, Louis,” Oli raises his eyebrows pointedly at Calvin. 

“Yeah,” he goes on, “clearly, he just wasn’t giving her a good enough dicking with his tiny little cock.” 

Calvin chokes on a snort, spluttering through water as Oli scoffs, throwing a tea towel at Louis, who dodges it quickly, laughing until even Oli’s chuckling. 

And by the time 12 o’clock rolled around, Louis’ headache is gone. 

  
  
  
  


“Oi, Lou, two pints of lager shandy and a half pint of Hobgoblin beer over here!” 

The rest of the week had passed quickly, a mixture of sleeping in, bingeing old episodes of  _ Gogglebox  _ and wasting hours perusing instagram and twitter. Now Louis was working his evening shift at the local pub,  _ The King’s Arms,  _ nestled in a busy street in Shoreditch. 

It’s a good job and Louis would have enjoyed it even if the pay had been shitty; it’s always crowded, with a lively atmosphere and a constant stream of raucous chatter and laughter over the footie games and music. Tonight’s especially packed and Louis suspects that it’s because it’s the height of summer and the wet, rainy week had taken a turn for the better by the weekend. 

The crowd is spilling onto the pavement outside already and it looks as though it’s going to be one rowdy, alcohol-buzzed night. Not for him, of course, with his job and all. 

“Got ‘em here, mate,” replies Louis, chucking the towel over his shoulder as he slides the drinks over to his fellow bartender, a good mate of his called Niall. 

“Cheers,” Niall grabs the drinks distractedly, pushing them over to the bustling customers and shoving the money in the till, “bloody jammed tonight, innit?” 

“Yeah,” agrees Louis off-handedly, turning back to the bar.

A group of about five men have pushed their way to the front and Louis nods at them, leaning over slightly to hear their orders. They’re all wearing navy rugby shirts with a team he doesn’t know emblazoned on them. 

“Alright, man? Just, uh, two pints of lager and three pints of beer - Heineken, please,” greets a red haired one loudly, a thick scottish accent wrapped around the words. 

Louis nods and grabs five glasses, pulling the leavers on a few tabs and watching the amber liquid fill them up greedily. Over in the corner, a surge of guffaws erupts from a group as Tottenham Hotspur scores on the telly above the bar. 

The guy who had ordered the drinks grins, nodding his head at the tv. “They’ll never win with a score like that ‘nd only twenty minutes left of playing time.” 

Louis glances up at the screen, smiling as he exhales thoughtfully, “I don’t know, mate, ‘ve seen Tottenham scrape a win in the last couple of minutes a few times. Only way they get anywhere to be honest with you, ‘s all in the second half, innit?” 

Louis wipes their glasses down and pushes them over the shiny, polished wood of the bar. 

The man shakes his head, accepting their drinks, “Ta, man. And aye, it’s why I don’t watch much football. All pussy for most of it. Rugby’s a proper harsh one, get yourself to a game and you’ll be up out of your seat the whole time.” 

“Ah, mate, gonna have to disagree with you there. Much more of a footie man meself. Reckon I’ve seen about two games of rugby.” 

He laughs, swiping his card and handing out the drinks to his friends, “fucking english,” he chuckles good-naturedly, holding up his hand in a brief thanks before squeezing back through the crowd. 

Louis laughs to himself, shaking his head as he collects more orders from customers. 

“Alright, Jesy, can you take over for a little while? Need a smoke, cheers,” calls out Louis two hours later, making sure the barmaid has everything under control before stepping out back, through the hot, bustling kitchen and into the cool alley behind the pub. 

Despite it being half ten, the air is warm, a light breeze ruffling over head. The sky is a beautiful light purple, just hazy enough to indicate the hour. 

Louis sighs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of fags, lighting one up and sliding it into his mouth with practiced ease. He can still hear the crowd inside in a comfortably muted way, birds tweeting lazily in the trees above. 

He’s just stubbing out his cigarette ten minutes later when someone comes through the alley. Which, like. It isn’t  _ unusual _ , he supposes. It’s just that this alley is a dead end and the only people who are ever out here worked in the pub. He straightens up, pushing himself off the wall and was about to go and tell whoever it was that they’d probably taken a wrong turn when they fell. Onto him. Sort of. They stumble over seemingly nothing and Louis instinctively goes forward, catching them before they face-planted into the pavement with one hand around their hip and another at their shoulder. 

“Oh, shit, sorry-” 

And  _ fuck. _ Ok. All Louis can see is big, green eyes and a full mouth and curls of hair and his mind’s gone completely blank, goddamn it, but they’re still just staring at each other and-

“Hi.”  _ Jesus. _

Louis’ mind sort of snaps back into place then and he drops his hands, stepping backwards and running one hand through his hair. Now he can get a better look at the guy he’s meeted with the sight of legs that go on for days wrapped in- in fucking  _ flared  _ brown trouser-jeans and a little black coat that cuts off at his waist and this bloody hat that makes Louis want to cuddle him and woah, ok, what the fuck. 

“Hello,” the man says and then  _ smiles _ , looking genuinely happy that someone probably smelling way too strongly of cigarette smoke caught him just as he was about to smash his face in. 

“Are, uh,” Louis began, trying (and failing) not to get distracted by the man’s dimples that make him look so much cuter, fucking hell, “are you alright, mate?” 

The guy nods, still smiling, “Oh, yeah, I fall all the time. I fell on the bus on the way over here. The driver pulled off a little too fast.” 

He pouts for a moment, face pulled into a troubled little frown that Louis is  _ much  _ too endeared by for someone who doesn’t even know the man. 

“Alright, then, love,” chuckles Louis, the name slipping out accidentally. He doesn’t miss the slight blush that raises on Harry’s cheeks, “what did you come back here for? Just because I work here,” - he nods his head in the general direction of the pub - “and that's all this alley leads to.” 

The man nods, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Yeah, I know, my mates went in before me and I couldn’t get past all the people at the front by myself so I came around here to see if there was a back entry. And if I could use it,” he added, a shadow of the dimples from earlier peeking out from his cheeks. 

Christ, he’s fit. Louis’ seriously considering just bunking off his next two hours to spend it with the boy. Except, you know, the guy probably wants to see his friends. Still, he’s sure Niall would understand, he’s skipped at least ten shifts in favour of picking up birds. 

“Uh, yeah, go on then,” grins Louis, opening the door that was clearly marked as  _ Staff Only  _ and waited until the man was inside. 

“God, thanks so much. None of them have their phone with them and I don’t have any money with me.” 

Louis chuckles, leading him through the back room, “not a problem, love. Do you always make a habit of walking around London late at night with no money?” 

He giggles - honest to god,  _ giggled  _ and somehow made it sound cute with that deep of a voice. “No. ‘M usually really responsible, actually. Just forgot it tonight. I don’t live far though, so it’s not too bad. Is this the kitchen?” 

They walk through the rows of silver, weaving their way in between the busy chefs. 

“Yep,” nods Louis, “gotta not touch anything though because the head Chef bloody  _ hates  _ me.” 

“Why?” he asks curiously, immediately shrinking in on himself when Louis says not to touch anything. It’s a lot sweeter than it should be. 

He shrugs. “Probably has something to do with me almost burning down the entire pub one morning.” 

The boy gasps, a surprised chuckle spilling out over it. “Oh, my god. What happened?” 

They reach the door that leads behind the bar and Louis turns around. They were a lot closer than he’d anticipated and Louis felt a sudden urge to reach out and hold the guy’s hips, one hand cupping into his waist.  _ Christ.  _

“Just a cup of tea gone wrong,” he says instead, leaning against the door a bit. 

The guy smiles, laughing slightly, looking at Louis from under his lashes and ok, who the fuck had turned up the heating. 

“I can make a good cup of tea in the morning,” the guy says softly, tilting his head to the side a little, “had a lot of guys compliment me on...that.” 

And well.  _ Bloody hell.  _ Is he- did he just- 

Louis raised his eyebrows a little, shifting so they were minutely closer and letting one of his hands  _ just  _ skate over the guy’s hip, making his eyelashes flutter closed for a second. 

“Well, in that case, maybe you should show me some time,” he let the sentence hang in the air, watching as the guy inhaled sharply and let a few moments pass before moving away and opening the door so that the rowdy noise of the pub flooded out, “you know, so I don’t start another fire.” 

He can see the man’s face cloud with confusion before the expression clears and he nods, laughing a bit as he follows Louis through. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Louis, where ‘ave you been? And who’s this?” exclaims Niall, looking between the two of them with a suspicious expression. Louis moves so he’s slightly in front of the guy, in between him and Niall. 

“Jesus, calm down, mate. Just went out for a quick smoke and uh-” Louis turns around, frowning slightly when he realises he doesn’t even know his name. 

“Oh, Harry, ‘m Harry,” supplies the guy - Harry - and Louis nods, turning back around and filing that name away in his brain for later. 

“Harry just needed to see some of his mates, they got in here before him,” explains Louis, raising his eyebrows and glaring a bit when Niall opened his mouth. Niall sighs, closing it again and waving one dismissive hand at them both, turning away to take more orders from the bubbling crowd. 

“Christ,” Harry whispers, “ ‘s pretty scary behind the bar. Really loud.” 

Louis chuckles, moving to face him properly. “What, you never been in a pub before?” 

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “Course I have. Just never seen it from this angle. How do you even remember all their orders?” 

Louis shrugs and grabs some glasses. “You get used to it. Anyway, just lift up that bit of the bar, yep, that’s the one.” 

Harry nods, now from the other side of the bar, squeezed in beside a blonde girl and an old, ruddy faced man. 

“Thank you, Louis, it was nice meeting you,” he smiles and Louis nods, grinning at him before taking orders from two women. 

“Two pints of Stella Artois, please, mate.” 

By the time he’s served them, Harry’s gone, lost in the raucous shouts and laughter. 

  
  
  


Later that night, Louis stares at his ceiling, unable to fall asleep. The streetlight outside is painting a faint orange strip across it and half of his left wall, the dark shadows of leaves blurring across the muted colour. He sighs, turning over and flipping his pillow round to the cool side. His second pillow stays neglected on the other side of the bed until he grumbles slightly and pushes it into his arms because it’s bloody  _ cold _ . He ends up spooning it, unsuccessfully trying to ignore how sad that is in the process. 

Sleep evades him no matter how hard he tries and eventually he just lets his thoughts drift, giving up on trying to get a decent night’s rest. It’s already three in the morning by his phone’s clock but he refuses to go on it, knowing that he’ll just end up more awake than ever if he does. 

Louis thinks briefly about the man he met earlier - Harry. He’d been proper fit and, well, it’s not been a while since Louis last pulled but, no, ok, it had been a while. Long enough that Oli and Calvin have started nagging him to start going to the club again. It’s not that Louis’ sworn off one night stands, really, it’s just that he doesn’t find them as satisfying as he used to. 

His mind loops back to Harry and he finds himself replaying their conversation; from when Harry fell, to when he’d  _ giggled,  _ to when Louis had  _ grazed  _ his hand over his hip and Harry’s eyes had fluttered closed, to when Harry had thanked him before squeezing through the crowd. 

Why the hell hadn’t Louis asked him for his number? Or even just got his instagram? All Louis knows is his name, the fact that he lives fairly close to the pub and that, if his posh-ish accent was anything to go by, he doesn’t come from London but from the south of England, maybe Cheshire if he had to guess. 

He sighs again, pushing the covers off himself and padding out of his room. The flat is silent and dark, the buzz of the telly and tick of the clock the only noise. 

He can see some light from under Oli’s door, presumably on his phone, and he ignores it, walking through to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. 

A good view of London fills their window above the sink and Louis stares at it for a while, sipping at his drink until the city lights and the dark sky become blurred. 

It doesn’t really matter anyway; with his luck, he’ll never see Harry again. 

And with that thought still resounding in his mind, Louis turns and heads back to bed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are so, so appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Louis just wants to reside in this moment forever, with the music and the lights and Harry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! They gave me the motivation to write this one and post it so quickly :)   
> There's another song at the start which I would recommend listening to as well. I'm still developing their characters so these first few chapters might seem a bit rough, sorry. 
> 
> Also, apologies for the first few paragraphs of this chapter as it has practically no dialogue haha.

_ Twice - Catfish and the Bottlemen _

  
  


The next two weeks feel more like one; days passing in quick succession as July arrives, bringing with it warm evenings spent smoking weed in Hyde Park and too bright mornings waking Louis up at  _ seven _ , for god’s sake. He hasn’t gotten up at seven since high school, probably. 

Still, somehow this morning finds him staring blankly at the opposite wall, the sun washing the cream paint gold. The time reads 7:03AM and Louis swears quietly, pulling the covers up over his head and revelling in the velvety darkness. That is until the heat almost  _ chokes  _ him and he throws the duvet away, yanking his pillow out from underneath him and stumbling out of his room. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters irritably to himself, “can’t even sleep anymore.” 

The flat’s quiet and Louis assumes Oli and Calvin are still asleep, which at least means the bathroom will be empty. That’s one good thing, he supposes, since Calvin usually takes  _ hours  _ in there doing god knows what. 

The door creaks a little as he opens it and he sighs, mentally adding that to the list of things they need to fix, along with the dodgy hallway radiator and the worn old 31 on the front door. 

Louis switches the light on and it flickers, the fan groaning before shuddering into a steady rhythm. He grabs his toothbrush, running it briefly under the tap before brushing his teeth with the very last of the toothpaste. Right. Starting on Monday, he’s going on a proper shopping trip and putting away some of his money each week into his savings, he decides. 

He knows he should do this already but it’s  _ hard _ , okay, especially when Zayn knows a guy who has weed that’ll make time seem backwards and colours shimmer. Usually Louis can get the weed for less though - perks of everyone getting on with him - but sometimes it can be expensive. Zayn and him often split it, which is useful since Zayn knows everything there is to know about drugs; from the highs and lows of the black market to the cheapest, dodgiest shit and the most costly, upscale substances. 

The water is cold as it sprays out from the shower head, cascading over his skin in glassy droplets. Louis tips his head back, running his hands over his face and through his hair. 

By the time he’s finished washing out the last of their communal  _ Hugo Boss  _ shower gel, the water is at the temperature he likes most - as hot as it can be without burning. 

Louis turns the shower off after a few more minutes and gets out, towelling himself dry as he thinks. He has the evening shift again that night and his boss had called him earlier to ask if he could work double. He sighs, pulling on some Adidas trackies and a tight white t-shirt that he knows accentuates his summer tan and arm muscles. 

Niall’s fucked off to Ireland this week so there’ll only be four bartenders working tonight. And the pub will probably be packed, meaning he was in for a busy, hectic few hours.

He makes his way into the kitchen, boiling the kettle and praying that there won’t be too many drunks he needs to deal with later. That’s the last thing he needs right now.

The sun’s properly risen now, Louis can see it from their kitchen window, bright rays dusting the city. In the distance, he can see the river Thames, looking like a fat, glittering snake as it sparkles in the morning light. 

The kettle whistles and he grabs it, lifting it off the hob and pouring a healthy amount into his old, slightly chipped Doncaster Rovers mug. He hears the front door slam and looks up to see Oli, panting and red-faced, walking in wearing his jogging gear. Earphones dangle loosely from inside his Nike hoodie and Louis can hear the faint sounds of music coming from them. 

“Morning,” Louis says, turning around and grabbing another mug from the cupboard, “you want tea?”

Oli nods, still breathing raggedly as he sits heavily down in a chair. “Yeah, cheers, Lou. You been up long?” 

Louis shakes his head, glancing up at the clock to see it’s already half eight. “Nah, just had a shower,” he hands Oli his steaming mug and glances down the hall to see Calvin moving about in his room, “might want to get in there before Cal does. Be waiting for hours if you don’t.” 

Oli laughs, sipping at his drink gratefully, “Thanks. Reckon I should anyway. Sweating like a pig, I am.” 

Louis chuckles, pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes and splashing some milk over them. “Could ‘ave done without hearing that, mate. Jesus, get yourself in there, I can smell you from here, fuckin’ hell.” 

Oli laughs again, louder this time, before downing his mug and getting up. “Yeah, how’s this,” he says and Louis can hear the grin in his voice. He turns around to see Oli swiping one hand under his arm before slapping him around the head, his tangy sweat right on Louis’ face. 

“Oi, you cock!” yells Louis in mingling disgust and amusement, cutting Oli’s laughter short with a swift nipple twist. 

Oli winces, backing away before snorting again, “That was for not getting my Tetley tea again.” 

Louis flips him off, shaking his head and chuckling slightly as Oli’s laughter continues down the hall. 

He brings his food into the living room and settles onto the sofa, grabbing the remote and flicking the telly on to the last half hour of  _ Good Morning Britain _ . Calvin joins him after ten minutes, slumping onto the armchair in just a t-shirt and sweats, crunching on a slice of buttered toast loudly. 

“Cor, that Piers Morgan’s a right knob,” he mutters a few minutes later, voice thick with sleep. 

“Innit,” Louis agrees, finishing the last of his cornflakes, “Susanna Reids not much better to be honest.” 

They both watch as the presenters talk about the latest news, including a new deal that has been discussed with Europe. 

“Nah,” Calvin says after a while, “she’s fit, in’t she?” 

Louis frowns, staring at the back of his head. “Mate, she’s, like, forty.” 

Calvin turns around, face tired as he scratches his head, stretching loosely, “Fittest presenter on here, though. Gotta admit that, Lou.” 

“Yeah,” snorts Louis, setting down his empty bowl on the coffee table, “that’s because Kate Garraway’s pushing fifty and the others are two old men, though.” 

Laughing, Calvin gets up, collecting the dishes and calling over his shoulder, “reckon you would have a go with Piers, Lou?” 

“Fuck off,” chuckles Louis, flipping him off and reaching for his phone. 

He has one new snapchat from Niall and he brings up the app. It’s a picture of a pint, clearly taken in a pub, and the caption says  _ ‘remember this one Lou :) need 2 get u back here so u can get urself another plaque m8’.  _

Louis laughs quietly, stretching and scratching his chest a bit as he types out a reply. Last summer he and Niall had gone to Ireland for a week, spending the seven days in various states of inebriation, and earning themselves a plaque at the local pub after downing 15 shots each of some kind of Irish beer. 

‘ _ Nialler, you get me off tonight’s double shift and I’ll hop on the next plane to dublin !’  _

He clicks off Snapchat and onto iMessages next, opening on a new text from Zayn, feeling a bubble of relief inside his chest when he reads it. 

Z:  _ Gigi wants to go out tonight so we’re going to the King’s Arms, are u working this evening bro?  _

Louis types an answer out quickly, knowing that Zayn will either reply in the next few minutes or the next day. 

Louis:  _ Niall’s off so I’m working a double shift tonight. You two are gonna have to stay the whole time to keep me company tho :)  _

He switches his phone off and lays back against the arm of the sofa, pushing his legs up too so that he’s lounging across it. Thank fuck for Zayn and Gigi, honestly, because last time Louis had worked an evening shift without Niall he had ended up wanting to pour gasoline over himself and light a match. Turns out that rowdy, drunk young adults aren't that much fun to deal with by yourself. 

Fair enough, he doubts Zayn and Gigi will be much help in that department but still. 

Calvin and Oli leave for their respective jobs soon after - Calvin playing gigs in various places down the West End and Oli to a plumbing company about an hour away - leaving Louis with the apartment to himself. There’s not much to do but he does find himself scouring google on his macbook, sifting through websites and online universities. 

He’s not planning to enroll in a Uni - doesn’t have the patience for another four years of education - but he tries to make a habit of it once in a while. It’s not like he can stay working in the bar forever and he needs to broaden his options, so. 

At half twelve, Louis nips out and does a food shop, knowing that all they have in their cupboard is some instant noodles, half a pack of cornflakes and two slices of bread. By the time that’s finished, he’s worn out and collapses into his bed, falling into a heavy sleep in under ten minutes. 

  
  
  
  


As he had predicted, the pub is absolutely packed, swarming with women and men alike. It is Saturday night after all but even he is surprised at the amount of people. By ten o’clock, the crowd has spilled over onto the outside, lounging in the beer garden and squeezed in at the tables. 

Gigi and Zayn got there earlier and have managed to snag themselves seats in the corner of the bar, next to the till area so that they can chat to him. 

“And so then, he says to me, you know, sorry but I don’t think you have exactly the size we’re looking for,” Gigi recalls, covering her face with one hand, “god, it was so embarrassing. It’s not like they couldn’t have changed the material size anyway.” 

Louis winces in sympathy, finishing filling a glass full of lager and passing it over the bar before starting on the next order. “That’s well harsh of them, love. Who the fuck is naturally size zero anyway?” 

“I know,” proclaims Gigi angrily, “that’s what I said - if you’re pushing this natural, body positivity theme then people aren’t going to want to see super skinny models.” 

Zayn hums and downs the last of his beer, smoothing one hand over her shoulder. “They’re focking bang outta order, babe. Don’t want to promote someone like that anyway, ‘s their loss, innit.” 

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, pushing her glass over to Louis. “I suppose you’re right. Oh, just give me a shot of vodka and rum please, Lou. I need to forget about today.” 

Louis chuckles, raising his eyebrows and fetching the vodka, swishing it into the glass with a healthy slosh of rum to mix it together. 

“Anyway,” mutters Zayn, leaning over the bar and grabbing another can of Stella Artois, “you should ‘ave rung me when you were there. Would ‘ave sorted them out.” 

“Oi, watch it, Malik, you have to pay for that,” interrupts Louis, grinning when Zayn flipped him off, “and what would you have done, mate? Chased them with your ta’oo needle?”

Gigi laughs, accepting her drink from Louis with a grateful nod, and even Zayn lets a smile slip through his disgruntled expression. 

“Well, nah,” he takes a swig from his drink before continuing, “look, hey, at least I’m not the one that got into scraps in high school, bro.” 

“ _ Oi, _ ” Louis chucks the towel he’d just finished wiping a glass with over his shoulder and points a finger at Zayn, trying to keep a straight face to cover his amusement, “that’s a low fuckin’ blow, mate.” 

Zayn laughs and Gigi joins him, turning to Louis with a surprised expression. “I didn’t know you were one of those guys who were always fighting, Louis.” 

Zayn chokes on his own laughter and Louis flips him the bird. “God, I wasn’t. It was just - oh, fuck off, Z - the area I grew up in, right, Doncaster. It’s a bit rough, like. Chavvy, I guess,” he shrugs and grabs the next order from a barmaid, “had to learn how to protect meself if I was walkin’ home late one night, you know.” 

Zayn stares at him, laughter finally subsiding, “alright, Louis, you know that you didn’t grow up with the  _ whole  _ cast of West Side Story, right?” 

Louis laughs properly then, swatting him over the head with the cloth. 

“Hey, Louis, can you get over here please? There’s a guy causing a bit of trouble!” 

Louis turns around, Gigi and Zayn looking over as well. Jesy - one of his fellow bartenders - had called him over and he sighs a little. Since Niall is off, there are just four bartenders and he is the only guy, which means the three of them usually ask him to deal with the drunks and more aggressive people. Bit bloody sexist if you ask him but whatever. 

“Ah, you better go deal with that, mate,” says Zan grimly, glancing over to the other end of the pub. There’s a large crowd who are looking particularly raucous, jostling each other and speaking loudly in various british accents thickened by alcohol. 

“Is everything okay?” asks Gigi, frowning worriedly and chewing on her lip. 

Louis nods, running one hand through his hair, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll just get him out of there and make him drink some water.” 

“Alright, Lou, just don’t start a fight again,” snorts Zayn and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. Zayn - and Niall - will probably hold that over his head until the day he dies. 

“Tosser,” he mutters, shaking his head before signalling to another barmaid to take over his spot. 

“Alright, alright, everything okay here, lads,” Louis asks once he’s walked over to them, accent thickening like it always does when he’s drunk, high, angry or defensive. 

There’s about ten of them and they part a little to make way for him, moving to other sides of the booth. From what he can tell, they’re all more or less sober and for a second he doesn’t know why Jesy called him over until a dark-haired one near the wall speaks up. 

“Aye, this fella’s pissed, mate. Tried to get him some water but he didn't want it,” the guy pauses and laughs a bit, looking over at one of his friends, “tried to give Jamie a punch too but missed.” 

A small smattering of laughter ripples round the group and Louis feels a smile pull at his own lips. He turns to the table to see a young guy sitting there, practically slumped across the table. 

“Alright, cheers, mate,” Louis chuckles, glancing up at the man who spoke earlier, “I’ll get him over to the bar, thanks.” 

The man nods and laughs again and the group moves away through the crowd. Louis sighs, looking back over to the guy before moving closer and bending down. 

“Listen, can you hear me, mate?” 

He grumbles in assent and raises his head a few inches off the table. 

“Good, I’m just gonna move you, alright, pal? We’ll go to the bar and get you some water-” 

“Mitch? I got you a glass of- oh, Louis, hi.” 

Louis turns around, relief running through him when he realises the guy must be here with a friend. And then he sees the friend. 

“Harry?” 

Harry nods and smiles, ducking his head a little. He looks just as fit as Louis remembers him, and this time he’s wearing black flares and a soft orange jumper that’s slipping off one shoulder, revealing tanned skin and the beginning of a tattoo. 

“Yeah, yes. I didn’t know you were working tonight.” 

“Oh, yeah, well, one of me mate’s has gone home for the weekend,” Louis says off-handedly, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s shoulder and onto his face, “so I have to work a double shift. Would have been off two hours ago, actually.” 

Harry nods, eyes flickering over Louis’ face, before smiling slightly, teeth digging into his plush lower lip. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly, catching Louis’ eyes again. 

“Uh- sorry?” Louis asks, sure he must’ve misheard him because, well, who exactly says that to someone they’ve only met - briefly - once? 

“For my mate,” Harry explains, nodding his head in the direction of his friend and right, yeah, okay, that makes more sense. 

Louis nods and Harry squeezes past him to get near the booth, placing the glass down on the table.    
  


“I think I better get him to the bar,” Harry decides and Louis nods again, feeling a bit useless, “people look like they want to use this booth.” 

“Yeah, alright, let me help.” 

They both slide one of Harry’s friend’s arms over their shoulder and walk him carefully to the bar. Louis gets them a seat near Zayn and Gigi - not that it really matters anyway since the two of them look rather busy to him. 

It’s eleven o’clock by now and so the orders are coming in less, even though it's still cramped and Louis can hardly hear over the live music and chatter.

“Thanks for coming over, by the way,” Harry says and Louis smiles, picking up a glass and wiping it down. 

“No problem, love, ‘s my job, innit. They weren’t giving you any trouble, were they?” 

Harry shakes his head, a loose curl falling over his forehead, cheeks dimpling as he smiles. 

“No, they were fine. Got a bit annoyed when Mitch tried to hit one of them, though,” he rolls his eyes. 

Louis laughs, taking an order from two burly-looking men before turning back to Harry. 

“Anything I can get you then, darlin’?” 

He’d predicted that the name would make him blush and Harry doesn’t disappoint; biting his lip in an effort to stop his smile widening as a light pink colour rises on his cheeks. He glances down at the bartop, fingers playing with the corner of a tattered beer mat before looking up at Louis, gaze strong and unwavering and so, so  _ green _ . 

“I would but if I’m taking Mitch home I’ll need enough money for an uber.” 

Louis grins, pulling on one of the beer taps to fill a pint before sliding it over the bar and taking the money. “Alright, here’s a deal, you let me make you a drink and I’ll let you have it for free, yeah?” 

Harry narrows his eyes, a little giggle tumbling out with his words. “How do I know you won’t put anything dodgy in it?” 

Louis laughs, grabbing one of the elegant hurricane glasses and setting it on the counter. “Look, I’ll tell you what I’m putting in it when I’m putting it in and you can watch, too. In fact,” he turns to Gigi and Zayn, “oi, Gigi, you want a drink?” 

She has to practically peel herself away from Zayn - Louis wrinkles his nose in disgust - but nods happily. ‘Yeah, go on then.” 

Louis looks back at Harry, “I’ll get her to drink it first and if she collapses, you don’t have to, yeah?” 

Harry laughs, covering his mouth with one hand as he nods, eyes bright. Zayn laughs too and Gigi rolls her eyes, leaning forward into the conversation nonetheless. 

“Alright, then, Lou,” she asks, rubbing her hands together in anticipation, “what are you making us?”

Louis hums in consideration, turning around and deliberating before picking about four bottles and setting them on the bar. 

“Bloody hell, Lou,” snorts Zayn, leaning forward too so that all three of them are watching him properly, “you tryna get them drunk or summat?” 

Harry and Gigi laugh and Louis’ smile broadens. “Fuck off, I”ll measure them out. Alright,” he grabs the glasses and places them so that they’re right next to each other before unscrewing one of the bottles and pouring it from right to left over the two glasses, the clear liquid swirling into the bottom. 

“Tequila,” he announces, capping the bottle and quickly grabbing the next one. 

(And if he adds a little more flourish to his movements, hands waltzing quickly over the bottles, just to see Harry look at him like  _ that _ then nobody has to know.)

“Grapefruit juice,” he adds next, splashing it into the glasses, the pink liquid melting into the alcohol.

“Oh, that looks really pretty, Lou,” sighs Gigi, cupping her face with her hands. 

Louis squints at her, “how much has she had to drink, Zayn?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Gigi snorts, and Zayn laughs, rubbing one hand over her back. 

“Right,” Louis continues, “gonna add some lemonade next to make it a bit sweeter.” 

He pauses suddenly, glancing at Harry and debating quickly in his mind whether he should say something along the lines of ‘ _ although you’re sweet enough.’  _ Harry’s looking at him though - they all are - and he thinks Harry knows, just  _ knows _ , he’s considering saying it because his cheeks flush a bit and he bites his lip again. 

It barely even takes a second but then Zayn laughs loudly, suddenly, shaking his head, “Louis, I swear to god, man, if you pull that line out.” 

He barely has time to register what Zayn said before all three of them are erupting into laughter. Oh. Ok, was he really that obvious? Damn. 

“What, you don’t think that’s a good line?” he grins, pulling up the lemonade and pouring a good amount in. 

Gigi shakes her head, chuckling in between her words, “I mean, it’s just overused, isn’t it? Like that fell from heaven one.” 

“Alright, what is a good line then?” 

“I always ask birds where they’re from, they like that,” nods Zayn, sipping his beer. 

Louis stares at him, setting the lemonade down. “God, mate, no wonder you stay silent most of the time, going around talking like you're the next Ted Bundy, bloody hell.” 

Gigi and Harry laugh and Louis feels a rush of something - he doesn’t know what - at the knowledge that Harry’s laughing at something  _ he  _ said. 

“What about you then, Harry, Gigi, got any pickup lines?” 

She hums, thinking it over and Harry shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek, “I don’t know...I never really seem to use pickup lines.” 

Gigi sighs deeply, leaning over and gently pinching Harry’s cheek. “That’s because you’re so cute, mate. Bet you have guys tripping over themselves to buy you drinks. Or girls,” she adds thoughtfully. 

Louis feels a surge of irrational jealousy bloom in his chest and he tamps down on it quickly, grabbing a bottle of vodka and adding a small amount to their drinks. 

“Guys,” Harry corrects shyly, glancing up at Louis, who swallows, staring at him until Zayn coughs pointedly.

“Right, okay, hang on,” Louis tears his eyes away from Harry and grabs a lime, slicing it thickly so that juice will dribble down into the drink. He spears the slices onto the rim of each glass and then hands them to Harry and Gigi respectively. “Drinks are ready.” 

Gigi downs her’s in one, tipping the glass all the way back until just the lime remains. 

“Fuck, Louis, that’s amazing,” she stares at her empty glass, pouting slightly, “don’t suppose you can make me another?” 

Louis laughs, slinging the towel over his shoulder and shaking his head. “Sorry, mate, once in a lifetime opportunity, that was.” 

She rolls her eyes before turning around and catching sight of the live music, “Oh, fuck, I love this song, come on, let’s go closer.” 

“I can’t, I  _ am _ actually working, remember?” 

“Zayn? Harry?” 

Zayn nods, getting up from his barstool but Harry shakes his head, nodding to Mitch, who’s asleep atop the bar. “Should probably look after my friend, sorry.” 

Gigi waves off his apology, giving them both a quick smile before the two of them disappear through the crowd. 

Louis wipes down the surface, stacking away bottles and used glasses. “Go on then, try it,” he laughs, indicating Harry’s drink. 

“Want to save it,” Harry confesses, admiring the bubbly, pink drink, “your friend was right, ‘s really pretty.” 

It sounds different when Harry says it and a fond feeling spreads through his chest, something that Louis will later blame on the atmosphere and late night. Harry takes a small sip from the black straw. 

“Jesus christ, that is really good,” he says a few seconds later, staring at the drink and then up at Louis, “that’s honestly one of the best drinks I’ve ever had.” 

He grins, throwing the towel over his shoulder and leaning on the bar with both hands spread, looking down at Harry. “Should come by and I can make it again for you sometime.” 

Harry smiles, tilting his head to one side and playing with the straw of his drink. “Thought you said this drink was a once in a lifetime opportunity.” 

Louis runs a hand through his hair, laughing a bit as he says, “Could make an exception for you, I reckon.” 

“Oh?” Harry raises his eyebrows, as if he didn’t already know that was the answer. 

Louis turns around, grabbing a bottle and stacking it up on one of the shelves before looking back at Harry. 

“Yeah. Pretty lad says he likes a drink I’ve made him, I reckon I can whip it up again.” 

Harry blushes again and Louis just- he  _ loves _ how he can make him blush so easily, want’s to see how many ways he can get Harry all flushed and pretty, want’s to see what he’d have to say or do, want’s to see if he’d blush like that underneath Louis when- 

He halts that train of thought there. Jesus, if you’re gonna think about that, at least have the dignity to do it when he’s not sitting right in front of you, he tells himself firmly. 

“Maybe I should stop by again then,” Harry hums, looking up at Louis from under dark lashes, “just for the drink, of course.” 

Louis laughs, swishing water in a used pint glass and drying it quickly. “Of course.” 

Harry smiles and Louis’ eyes catch on his mouth, where he’s dragging the straw with his teeth. He sucks it into his mouth, tongue unnecessarily swirling around the head - the  _ top _ , christ - of the straw as Louis watches, blood thumping in his ears. 

Maybe it’s the buzz of the pub, or the amber lights reflected in Harry’s eyes, but Louis just can’t take his eyes off him, as cliche as that sounds. Harry knows, because of course he does, and smirks, the little shit, hollowing his cheeks obscenely before promptly pulling off and sliding the glass over the bar. 

“Finished,” he says, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

It takes Louis a second to figure out what he’s talking about, mind stuck on the image of Harry sucking that goddamn straw (except in his mind, it's definitely not a straw) but then he does, shaking his head slightly and grabbing his glass. 

He washes it out, laughing slightly and glancing at Harry, who starts laughing too and Louis  _ knows _ he knows what Louis was thinking - what they were both thinking. 

The song changes overhead to something a bit more upbeat and they chat through it’s entire ten minutes, bantering and flirting back and forth. 

“Alright, alright,” admits Louis, holding his hands up in a surrendering movement before narrowing his eyes at a giggling Harry, “chelsea?” 

Harry shakes his head, laughing, “God, no, I’m not  _ that _ posh.” 

Louis grins, grabbing the last of the glasses and washing them out under the tap, “Babe,” - he doesn’t know at what point he began calling Harry that but he can’t  _ help _ it, he’s just all sweet and pretty, what is Louis supposed to do - “you kinda are. Let me guess, you went to a comprehensive? Stayed on for sixth form?” 

Harry bites his lip to tamp down on his smile, nodding and sipping at his water. 

“Had a job by sixteen?” 

“Yep,” he nods happily, “worked in a bakery.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Oh yeah? Might need to get you to bake something for me sometime.” 

Harry’s smile widens, “I do make a good seeded bread, actually. And croissants.” 

“Yep, definitely gonna need you to bake them for me. Sounds bangin’,” Louis smirks when Harry blushes happily, “anyway, you got into Uni.” 

He nods, “yeah, how are you so good at this?” 

Louis shrugs, wiping down the bar again and leaning on his hands. “Well, with a job like mine, you end up talking to a lot of different people a lot of the time. “S nice actually, but I can kinda begin to read a lot of people after a while. Not all the time, of course,” he adds. 

Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes looking over Louis’ face, his gaze hot and lips looking so impossibly soft. 

“And, also,” Louis begins, a heat creeping up his spine, “when you’re as emotionally connected and sensitive as me, it’s pretty easy.” 

Harry laughs then, properly and loudly, covering his face with one hand. “Oh, fuck off,” he says through it, shaking his head, eyes glittering in the soft dappled light. 

Louis laughs too, opening his arms and gesturing to himself, “Oi, watch it, I could ‘ave been being serious then.” 

He only keeps on giggling and like, they both can’t stop staring at each other and Louis just wants to reside in this moment forever, with the music and the lights and  _ Harry. _

But then his friend - Mitch? - begins to wake up, mumbling and groaning a bit and Harry sighs, saying something quietly to him before glancing apologetically at Louis. 

“Should probably get him home,” he says quietly, biting the inside of his cheek. 

Louis nods, smiling at him because Harry looks sad and Louis doesn’t want that, even if he himself is feeling the flakes of disappointment in his chest. “Yeah, you don’t want him punching any more people.” 

Harry smiles at that, helping Mitch up before getting to his feet and gathering his coat. 

“Night then, Louis. Thanks for the drink and everything,” he nods, gesturing to his friend and the bar. 

Louis smiles, letting his eyes drift over Harry for a second more before speaking. “Don’t mention it, love. Get home safe, yeah?” 

Harry nods again and they both stand there for a few more seconds, just staring at each other before he turns away. 

Louis stares at him, his retreating figure as it weaves through the crowds of people, his jumper slipping off his shoulder again.  _ Get his number, _ he thinks desperately,  _ now. Fucking come on, he’s leaving.  _

It barely takes a second for Louis to make a decision, ducking out from behind the bar, squeezing between people before reaching the door, flinging it open and walking out into the cool night air. 

He looks around, the street lights illuminating the dark road. It’s busy; taxis and cars roaring over the road as groups of people stand outside the pub, laughing, chatting, smoking. For a moment, Louis thinks Harry’s gone and that he’s missed his chance but then he sees him. 

Harry is standing by an uber, helping his friend in the back before straightening up and saying something to the driver. 

“Fuck,” Louis swears before jogging over to him, reaching him quickly. 

“Louis?” Harry stares at him, smiling slightly, “what is it, everything okay?” 

“I- yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” Louis shakes his head, glancing over at the waiting car. “Was just thinking, how am I gonna get you to bake that bread if I can’t call you, you know? ‘S a bit of a shame, really.” 

Harry looks at him for a couple of seconds, smile growing on his face as he ducks his head and blushes  _ again _ . “This your way of asking for my number, Tomlinson?” 

Louis chuckles, running one hand through his hair. “I dunno, is it working? ‘Cause if it isn’t, then no, I’m not asking.” 

Harry laughs, the bright noise filling the air, “yes, it’s working, you cock.” 

(He wants to hear Harry say that word again and again, the shape of his lips around it, the way he accentuates the ‘ck’.) 

Louis hands him his phone and neither of them can stop  _ smiling _ , for god’s sake, even after the contact’s been saved and he’s pocketed it, neither of them are moving away. 

“Right, well, I better,” Harry gestures to the car, biting back his smile as his sentence trails off. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” Louis nods his head, giving him one last, long look before turning around and starting back up to the pub. He hears the car door slam and, a few moments later, the sound of it pulling away from the kerb. 

By the time he gets back behind the bar again, Gigi and Zayn have returned, settling down into their barstools as the musician begins playing the last song of the night. 

“Where’d Harry go?” asks Gigi, frowning and looking around as if he might suddenly emerge from beneath a table. 

Louis shrugs. “Had to leave,” he answers off-handedly, turning off the under-bar lights. 

Zayn nodded, nonchalantly gulping down the last of his drink. “Get his number then, did ya?” 

Gigi turns to him too, a smile spreading over her face. “You fucking better have, Louis.” 

Louis looks at them, grinning broadly before nodding. “ ‘Course. Wasn’t just gonna let him walk out, was I?” 

Zayn cheers and Gigi makes an excited noise, reaching over and clasping Louis’ hand, turning it so that it’s palm up. 

“Where is it then?” 

“What do you mean, where is it,” laughed Louis, “we’re not in the fucking nineties, got it saved in my phone, haven’t I?”

“Dickhead. Just more romantic to write it down, isn't it? Especially on your hand.” 

Zayn and Louis exchange a dubious look over the top of her head, before Zayn stands up, grabbing their coats. 

“Reckon we’ll head out before she starts asking  _ me _ to do more romantic stuff with her.” 

Gigi huffs, getting up as well, mumbling something, and Louis laughs, raising his hand in a goodbye as they leave the pub. More people start trickling out after the music ends and he only has to get a few stragglers off the premises by midnight. He locks up, calling out a brief ‘goodnight’ to Jesy and the other barmaids before trekking back to his flat, the night air cool and sweet on his face. 

Later, once he’s showered the smell of smoke and alcohol off and has gotten into bed, throwing the covers over himself and collapsing back against his pillows, Louis wonders briefly what the odds were of Harry going back to the pub. 

He makes a brief mental note to thank Niall for fucking off to Ireland on that particluar night or Louis would have spent the evening eating cold pizza and shouting at the tv whenever a player missed a goal.

Still, he thinks as he drifts off, the shadows on his wall painted over his eyelids, it’s lucky that all those things had aligned together so perfectly, that they had managed to revolve in a flawless circle so that the two of them might meet again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much if you finished this chapter <3 comments and kudos give me motivation so if you want to, please leave some.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s just- Louis’ nervous. He genuinely likes Harry and it’s not as if Louis’ never been in a relationship before - because he has - but he can’t remember ever feeling such a strong rush of affection for someone so quickly. He just doesn’t want to fuck this up. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry that this is late, this week has been so busy for me :( Second, this is just bit of a fuller chapter as I originally planned to have this chapter and the next - where they meet - in one but I'm only halfway through writing it and I didn't want to keep y'all waiting for too long. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much if you're still sticking with it! Again, I recommend listening to the song at the start.

_ Call Me Out - Sea Girls _

  
  
  


It’s been three days. Three days of Louis staring at the contact saved in his phone, eyes roving over the  _ Harry :) _ . Three days of his thumb hovering over the Message button, so tantalisingly close yet, at the same time, not at all near. Three days of wondering if he should text him or call him or neither or both and if so, then now or later? 

It’s just- Louis’  _ nervous. _ He genuinely likes Harry and it’s not as if Louis’ never been in a relationship before - because he has - but he can’t remember ever feeling such a strong rush of affection for someone so quickly. He just doesn’t want to fuck this up. 

By the time he does text him it’s Tuesday morning - four days since Saturday - and admittedly that might not be the best time seeing as Harry probably has a job which demands his weekdays but at this point Louis can’t be arsed to care. He doesn’t want to ignore the boy for a  _ week _ and it’s already been a while, so. 

Louis:  _ Hey Curly, you free this weekend for baking ? _

He doesn’t expect a reply straight away and sets his phone down on his bedside table, throwing his duvet off and stretching. He might bitch about working a late shift sometimes but it’s completely worth it when he gets to roll out of bed at 10AM to an empty flat. 

The shower burns his skin when he climbs in and Louis shivers, relaxing into the hot spray with a quiet sigh. He tips his head back, grabbing some shampoo and washing his hair thoroughly, hands running through the strands. His playlist moves on from The Verve to the Courteneers and he hums the song’s tune absent-mindedly. 

He drifts one hand down over his abdomen, muscles firm under his palm, as he thinks back to Saturday night - and more specifically, to Harry on Saturday night, with his soft orange jumper and black flares. Louis hadn't really noticed his clothes before but looking back they’re more prominent in his mind. He likes that he wears such unique styles, to be honest, they compliment his body - his broad shoulders and strong-looking arms, tattoos littered across them. 

Louis sort of wants to map the black ink out, to trace it with his tongue and engrain every line, every curve, into his memory. He sighs, letting his hand skate over the sparse hair littering his lower torso before wrapping it around his cock, giving it a few light tugs almost absent-mindedly. And those  _ long _ legs; Louis could probably talk about them for hours. He wants them wrapped around his waist or Harry’s strong thighs clenched around his face, wants to see them tremble and bloom with lovebites. Jesus. Flares being flares, they’re only really tight around the arse and thighs - not that  _ he’s _ complaining; Louis doesn’t want to sound like a fucking creep but it had been hard to keep his eyes off Harry’s bum, all full and perky. 

He strokes his cock until he’s fully hard, hand gripping the base slightly as he bites his lip, mind running over filthy scenarios. Louis suddenly remembers Harry sucking that goddamn straw into his mouth, eyes dark and cheeks hollowed, and he inhales sharply, hand pumping his cock faster, mouth falling open on a moan. He leans onto the shower wall with one hand, droplets of water wetting the tiles there. He can’t help but imagine what Harry would look like on his knees; mouth stretched wide around Louis’ girth, those plump lips shiny and red, eyes watering slightly. He jerks himself off to the thought, speeding up his movements and twisting his hand slightly, thumb swiping over the sensitive head, making him bite his lip again to conceal another moan. 

Maybe Harry would let him fuck his mouth; let Louis slide one hand into those precious curls and thrust roughly into his throat, tears sliding down his pretty face as he bobs his head up and down again. He fucks deeper into his hand, eyes slipping shut as he pictures thrusting into Harry, feeling his tight heat surround him, hearing all the noises he imagines Harry to make; a symphony of beautiful moans and cries. Precome drips out of the head and Louis swipes his hand over it, gathering the pearly white drops before jerking himself off again, the slide easier now. 

Or perhaps he’d be quiet; soft whimpers and whines slipping out from between his pillowy lips as Louis fucked him from behind. He can feel himself hurtling towards his orgasm, that familiar heat coiling in his abdomen, and he grips his cock by the base, desperate to stave it off just a moment later, wanting to remain in his mind with these heated images. 

Would Harry like it rough? Hard, thorough thrusts from behind, hands bruising imprints onto his hips as a reminder for the next day? Or slow maybe? He did seem the type to enjoy a sweet round of soft, gentle sex but then again, thinks Louis, rembering when Harry had gone down on the straw, he also seems like a bit of a minx. If he’s honest, Louis had wanted to bend Harry over and fuck him right then and there when he’d done that. 

He speeds up his hand again, loosening his grip slightly and pumping his cock with more determination, his orgasm building as he quickens his pace, blood roaring in his ears. It only takes a few more tugs before he’s coming messily into his hand, closed eyes blurring with images as he breathes heavily, chest rising and falling deeply. Louis swears quietly as he comes down from his high, washing himself briefly again before stepping out of the shower, a slight sense of guilt tingeing his mind. 

He walks back into his bedroom, opening a drawer and pulling on a fresh pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt before picking up his phone and checking it. Harry hasn’t replied yet but Louis hadn’t really expected him to. He pauses his music and flicks up another playlist, switching his phone off once he has Catfish and the Bottlemen playing. 

He spends the rest of the morning with a steaming cup of tea and Holly Willoughby and Philip Schofield on  _ This Morning.  _ In his opinion, the breakfast show is as essential a day starter as a nice warm brew. Harry replies just after noon and Louis’ only slightly ashamed to admit that he almost broke his leg from leaping up off the sofa as soon as he heard it come through. 

Harry:) :  _ Yes, is Saturday morning alright? I’ll bring most of the ingredients but do you have the equipment x _

Louis bites the inside of his cheeks as he smiles at the message, running one hand through his hair before frowning as he read it again. Equipment? What kind of equipment did bread need? He thinks about texting him to ask about it but dismisses the option quickly; it’s bloody  _ bread _ , Louis doesn’t need Harry thinking he’s some sort of kitchen hazard. 

(Well, he sort of is. Actually, Oli banned him from cooking after he almost started a fire trying to fry an egg. Still, that was months ago and he has  _ some _ skills, so.) 

He doesn’t reply right away, opening his macbook and googling “baking bread equipment”. 

A long list of professional sounding machinery appears but after ten minutes of scouring websites, he deduces that he’ll need measuring cups and spoons, some sort of oven-safe bread pan, a spatula (Louis can’t figure out what that would be used for), an oven (he doesn’t have to check for that), baking sheets and mixing bowls. 

It doesn’t seem too much and Louis smiles to himself, wandering through to the kitchen to check what they have. He knows they have a working oven, so that’s one off the list. Next, Louis looks through every cupboard, crouching down to feel inside shelves and leaning up to look on top of the cupboards on the wall. By the time he’s checked everywhere twice, he’s found one old bowl with a dodgy looking stain on the side and a spatula. The spatula’s fine but Louis chucks the bowl out, scrubbing one hand over his face. 

Right. B&Q it is. 

The drive over is relatively short, although he stops for a cigarette outside the petrol station (standing well away of course). He walks into the store, feeling oddly clean and productive for some reason, and looks around, following the signs on the ceiling until he reaches the kitchen appliances section. Being a Tuesday, it’s not too busy and Louis takes his time looking around, grabbing a trolley and looking carefully over his scribbled lists with his brow furrowed. 

On his fourth loop round, a shop assistant walks up to him with a slightly amused smile on her face. 

“Hi, do you need any help?” she asks politely, looking him up and down not unkindly. Louis can understand where she’s coming from; he’s been wandering around for twenty minutes, smelling of cigarette smoke and aftershave, a snapback pulled over his messy hair, picking up various machinery and putting it down again confusedly. He probably looks like he walked in by mistake. 

“Uh,” begins Louis, glancing at his list again and smiling sheepishly before handing it over to her. “Do you know where I can get any of these?” 

“Well,” she scours the list before looking at him again and laughing slightly. “I saw you pick up most of these already and then put them down, actually.” 

Louis scrubs one hand over his jaw, stubble pricking his skin as he laughs. “Oh, shit, really? Alright, well, could you, uh, show me which ones they are?” 

She laughs and nods, leading him over to some shelves stacked with bowls. “Of course. How many of each are you looking for?” 

“Oh, I dunno. One should do, right?” asks Louis, wondering why there were so many complexities to making food. 

Smiling, she looks over her shoulder at him. “It can depend. What are you making?” 

Louis tugs his cap back a bit, noticing her eyes follow the movement. “Just bread. So I’ll probably just need one of each or summat?” 

She doesn’t reply for a moment and when Louis glances away from the shelves to question her silence, she’s scanning the shelves, glancing at his list again. 

“Um, yeah, yes. What kind of bread are you making?” 

“Uh...I don’t know.” 

She turns to face him, frowning a bit and smiling slightly. “There’s quite a lot of different breads.” 

It’s Louis’ turn to flush. “Yeah, no, I know,” he coughs, “ ‘S me, uh, friend who’s making it. He bakes.” 

“Oh,” her expression clears and she nods, grabbing two bowls and measuring spoons and passing them to him. “Is he good?” 

“Yeah, great,” affirms Louis, smiling as he accepts a sieve and a sheet of baking paper. “He can make these bangin’, uh, croissants. Proper french ‘nd that.” 

“Really?” she turns to look at him, leaning against the shelf. “Sounds lovely.” 

Louis grins at her and nods, filling his trolley with the various appliances he’s being handed. “Yeah, it is. And, uh, where's the checkout?” 

“Just over here. I can just ring you up now if you’re finished.” 

She leads him over to the till, unpacking all of his stuff into a bag and handing it to him. 

“That’ll be £30, please.” 

Louis nods, swiping his card and grabbing the bag before thanking her briefly and walking back out of the store, feeling pleased with his purchases. By the time he gets home, it’s two o’clock and Calvin’s lounging on the sofa, beer in one hand and the remote in the other. 

He looks up as Louis enters, eyes catching on the B&Q bag. He stuffs a bite of his sandwich in his mouth, smirking obnoxiously around it. “You went shopping? To  _ B&Q? _ ” 

Louis rolls his eyes, heaving the bag into the kitchen and setting it on the table. Calvin abandons the television and follows him, laughing when he ignores his question. 

“And  _ why _ the fuck did you go to B&Q?” 

Louis turns around, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe, Calvin, I just went ‘cause I’m an  _ adult. _ And I needed- you know, adult, uh, stuff.” 

Calvin cocks his own brow, smiling infuriatingly. “Lou, if you wanted condoms, there’s a Boots down the road.”

Louis snorted and flipped him off half-heartedly, grabbing the measuring bowls and stacking them into the cupboards. 

“Spoons? A sieve?” Calvin stares at him. “Louis, what the fuck, you’re an absolute cock in the kitchen.” 

“Oi,” defended Louis, snatching the sieve out of his hands and placing it carefully away. “I’m not. Besides, maybe I want to learn, you know, I’m 26 and I can’t even cook a full meal.” 

Calvin frowns at him, examining the bread pan before pointing it accusingly at Louis. “So you’re telling me, that you just  _ decided _ to go spend” - he picks up the receipt from the bottom of the bag and waves it in disbelief - “thirty quid on bloody baking material purely because you were struck with this  _ burning _ passion to cook?”

Louis shifts uncomfortably next to the sink. “Yes.” 

Calvin levels him with a measured stare. “Bullshit.” 

He rolls his eyes again, grabbing the last of the equipment and stacking it away. “Alright, alright, fine. There’s this guy, right-”

Calvin makes a loud ‘aha!’ noise, almost scaring the living daylights out of Louis as he bounds up from his chair, pointing a finger at him as if he’s discovered Louis guilty of a crime. “I  _ knew _ it! Oh, mate, I fucking knew it. All weekend, you’ve been weird, staring at your phone too much for my liking - and now I know why! Because you had, like, nudes or something on it from this guy!” 

“No,” snorts Louis. “Calvin, what the fuck, no, it’s not like that, mate.” 

“Oh,” says Calvin, staring at him. “Go on then, tell us. What’s he like? How’d you meet him?” 

Louis sighs, trying to pretend as though he didn’t want to talk about it, before Calvin twists his nipple. “Ouch, jesus, fine, I’ll tell you. Bastard.” 

Calvin grins and settles himself into his chair again, looking at Louis expectantly. 

“Ok,” Louis begins, boiling the kettle and fetching two cups from the cupboard. “I met ‘im about two or three weeks ago at the pub-” 

“Two or three  _ weeks?  _ How have I not met him yet?” demands Calvin, watching as Louis pours the hot water on top of their tea bags. 

“Because I didn’t see him again until a few weeks after we first met and, also, you’re not me Mam, so.” 

Calvin grudgingly accepts his cup of tea, sipping at it before nodding for him to continue. Louis leans back against the counter, wrapping one hand around his mug before speaking.

“Anyway, we met briefly about a month ago. He fell on me, actually.”

Calvin snorts and Louis smiles over the rim of his cup, taking a sip of the burning liquid. 

“I didn’t get his number then and I kinda forgot about ‘im until last Saturday night, but then we met each other at the pub again because he was there with a mate. Well, we get to talking and I make him a few drinks, you know how it is, and by the end of the night, I’ve got his number. He bakes, actually, I can tell he’s a proper posh one- not a dickhead, though. Just sweet, like. You know, mate, cooks and stuff.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a housewife, Lou,” smirks Calvin, dodging the tea towel that Louis throws at him. “Oi, watch it, ‘ve got my tea. Anyway, what’s he look like? He peng?” 

Louis rolls his eyes at the word but ignores it, nodding instead. “Cor, yeah, he’s well fit. Oh, but listen, mate, you can’t be here anymore.” 

Calvin stared at him, lowering his cup onto the table. “What? Louis, what the fuck? You’re having him move in with you?” 

“No, jesus, I’ve only known him for about a week. You and Oli just have to fuck off on Saturday morning, alright? Go to Niall’s or summat,” explained Louis, praying that Calvin would agree. The last thing he needed was him and Oli lounging around, probably looking like the epitome of white trash. 

Calvin hesitates, “I don’t know, man. How long will you guys be?”

“Dunno. Just stay out the whole day, yeah? I’ll see you at the pub that evening, anyway,” shrugged Louis, finishing the last of his tea and placing the cup in the sink. 

He hears Calvin begin to object and turns around, “Go on, Cal, please? You know I’d do it for you.” 

Calvin sighs, “God, alright, fine. But don’t fuck on the couch, yeah?” 

Louis grins, tousling his hair before walking out into the living room and picking up his phone to reply to Harry’s text from earlier. “It’s not even a date, we won’t be shagging, mate.” 

He ignores Calvin’s mutter and flops onto the sofa instead, fingers flying across the keyboard as he types back a reply, a smile lingering on his face long after he’s switched his phone off. 

  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much if you read it and sorry once again for it being such a short one. Comments and kudos are appreciated unbelievably much - especially with this one since I was kinda nervous about posting it <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry pushes himself off the wall, unable to stop smiling as he squeezes Louis’ hand before disentangling them and walking out, leaving Louis staring after him. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is up! As you can probably tell, it was meant to be just with chapter three which is why its quite short, sorry :( also, thank you so much for every comment/kudo/bookmark/hit - they mean a lot <3
> 
> Again, I highly recommend listening to the song at the start :)

_ Saturday - Sam Fender _

The days seem to drag past as if in slow motion but, eventually, eleven o’clock on Saturday morning finds Louis and Harry in Louis’ flat’s little kitchen, laughter and chat bubbling over the indie music playing quietly from his phone. May’s morning sun is casting bright natural light into every corner, the view of the city set like a background in a play out of the window. 

“Ok, now you have to shape the bread, yeah?” instructs Harry, warm eyes catching on Louis as he prods the bread uncertainly. 

“What, in, like, an animal shape or something?” he asks, his confused frown smoothing down into a smile, eyes crinkling, as Harry laughs, shrugging his shoulders. 

“If you want, Lou. I was thinking more of a rectangle, though. To fit the pan,” he corrects, carefully leaning over and helping him roll it into shape. Louis makes a noise of realisation, watching as Harry expertly kneads the dough into a perfect rectangle before scooping it into the bread dish. 

“Looks bangin’, babe,” he compliments once it’s finished and Harry turns to him, eyes bright as he smiles, cheeks dimpling in a way that has Louis melting. This entire morning feels like something he could get entirely too used to. The thought should scare him, maybe. It doesn’t. 

“Alright, now what?” asks Louis, looking away and rubbing his hands together, just saying something to lull the moment. It feels almost like if he looks at Harry for too long, too hard, he’ll break away into thousands of little pieces, and would end up just staying in the minute with him forever. He doesn’t think that he would even particularly mind, to be honest. 

Harry turns away, squatting down a bit and fiddling with the knobs on the oven as he speaks. “Well, the recipe says we need to cook it for about forty-five to seventy-five minutes at 375 degrees.” 

Louis nods, joining him in front of the oven and peering in the little glass window. “It looks really good, you know. Gonna be all golden and brown, won’t it?” 

Harry doesn’t reply for a few seconds and when Louis turns to question his silence, he’s already looking at him, smiling with a hint of amusement. 

“What? What is it?” laughs Louis, pinching his sides lightly when Harry doesn’t answer instantly. He lets out a little squeak and brushes his hands away, joining in with Louis’ laughter. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he shakes his head, standing up and following Louis into the living room. “Just wondering if you’ve ever baked before.” 

“Oi,” Louis turns to look at him from where they’ve both collapsed on the sofa (turns out cooking really takes it out of a person), faux-offence mingled with amusement softening his words, “Of course I’ve baked before. ‘M not a complete nonce in the kitchen.” 

“Didn’t you tell me that you once almost burned down the pub trying to make a cup of tea?” shoots back Harry smoothly, grinning and biting down on his lip to stop a stream of giggles from escaping. Louis wants to kiss his dimples. And then him. 

Instead he just raises his eyebrow, leaning over and running one hand through his hair, heart beating slower or faster - he isn’t sure - when Harry tilts his head up into his hand.

“Think you’re getting confused, love, don’t remember that happening,” he smirks when Harry’s mouth drops open in mock-offence, hastily shoving the remote into his hands when he begins to speak. “Anyway, speaking of, why don’t I make us some tea and you see what’s on, yeah?” 

He can hear Harry’s laughter from the kitchen and smiles to himself, boiling the kettle before grabbing two mugs. As he waits for it to reach 100 degrees, he stares out the window at the city, the sound of Harry flicking through channels in the living room behind him more comforting than it has any right to be. 

Louis doesn’t want the day to end; he wants to remain here, right here in this sickeningly domestic moment, with two cups of tea brewing and bread browning nicely in the oven and the most precious boy just a few meters away, lounging on  _ Louis’  _ sofa waiting for  _ Louis  _ to come back through. His chest hurts a bit and he pulls away from his thoughts, pouring the water into the mugs and splashing a healthy amount of tea on top before carrying them carefully back to Harry. 

“David Attenborough?” he questions as he sees some monkeys sheltering in trees on the telly. Louis sets the cups down on the coffee table, collapsing back onto the sofa as, before Harry can reply, David Attenborough’s voice narrates from the documentary. 

He cheers quietly and hands Harry one of the mugs, who accepts it with a grateful smile. “You like him, then?” 

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” certifies Louis, sipping at his own tea, “absolute class, innit? Why, don’t you?” 

Harry’s smile, if possible, blooms even brighter, hands holding his drink close to his chest. “No, of course, I do, yeah. I love his documentaries, especially the land ones. Though, I hate it when the animals die. Think I might’ve even cried once,” he recalls, a light, embarrassed blush tainting his features, 

Louis is sure that his face is disgustingly fond but he doesn’t have it in him to care, not when he has possibly the sweetest person on the planet next to him. 

“Yeah, that’s always sad, love,” he says softly, unable to take his eyes off Harry even though the music coming from the telly indicates that something tense is happening. 

And like, usually, if Niall or Oli or Zayn had cried at something like that, Louis would give them a bit of shit about it, just to be a dick, but with Harry, he just- he can’t even  _ entertain  _ the idea of doing something like that. With Harry, he just wants to wrap him up in his arms and cuddle him and feed him grapes or something. 

Twenty minutes into the programme and Harry's curled up under his arm, head resting against Louis’ shoulder with their legs tangled together. It had happened gradually but the turning point had definitely been when a herd of buffalo were getting attacked by a pack of lions and he had been watching as Harry curled his own hands into tight fists, knuckles white, before chuckling slightly, leaning over and gently tugging him into his side. 

Harry had gone willingly, murmuring a quiet, grateful thank you, and huddling closer. Now, the documentary was focused on some stealthy, underwater snake, but neither of them had moved away, instead staying cuddled on the sofa. Louis thinks he’d be quite happy if they don’t have to move ever again. 

“The snake catches sight of her prey,” narrates David Attenborough, as the snake on the screen slithers through the grass, stopping every now and then, “in this case, the fieldmouse she’s had her eye on for months.” 

Harry shivers a little next to him and Louis glances down at him. “You alright, babe? We can switch it off, you know.” 

“No, no, it's fine, I like it,” he insists, making him huff out a laugh. But then Harry tangles their hands together, the cool metal of his rings against Louis’ skin, and every thought just wipes itself out of his head. 

They watch as the snake traps the mouse, squeezing it tighter in it’s coiled body, muscles rippling beneath glittering scales.  _ Romantic _ , Louis thinks dryly. 

“The snake delivers a last paralysing blow to it’s victim,” whispers David Attenborough and Louis can  _ feel  _ Harry holding his breath in his arms, body frozen. He knows he needs to do something - anything - or the poor boy will probably have a panic attack. 

“Not the kind of paralysing blow I’d want on a Saturday night, to be honest,” Louis mutters, biting his lip a bit. It works.

Harry’s body shakes against his with laughter and ,once Louis realises he’s not tensed anymore he’s laughing too, both of their eyes bright and cheeks dimpled, until the laughter turns into giggles and then into little hiccuped breaths of amusement. 

Louis can hear the programme’s end music playing, and then the BBC One presenter is announcing that the news is on next, but they both stay there for a moment, chests still rising and falling from their laughter, smiles still playing on their lips. 

Harry’s looking at him, up at him actually, from where he’s got his head on his shoulder, teeth biting his lip to keep his smile from spreading, dimples deep in his cheeks. His eyes are mesmerising, almost, flecks of blue and hazel embedded in the green, lashes dark and long. He can feel it when the moment changes. Their laughter’s petered off and they’re so much closer than they were before, so that if Louis leant down a bit - or Harry tilted his head forward - there wouldn’t be any space left between them. 

Green eyes are flickering all over his face, he can feel every stroke of them like a hot flame, and he’s sure his own eyes are doing the same. Neither of them are smiling anymore but, when he shifts minutely and curves one hand over Harry’s waist, his lips part invitingly, coaxing Louis in. 

He can barely hear the telly anymore, as cliché as that is, ears full of the same sort of thrumming like that of a song as the beat builds up, preparing to drop. Harry’s hand comes up to just cup his jaw, soft skin against his stubble, tentatively at first, but, when neither of them pull away, the movement becomes more sure. 

They’re so  _ close,  _ so close, that Louis could count every single one of Harry’s eyelashes, could memorise the arc of his eyebrows and line of his strong jaw. It’s just when he leans in, right before the gap’s closed and they can sink into each other, that Louis’ phone rings. 

Because of fucking course it does. 

For a second they both just stay there, neither of them moving, perhaps hoping it was just a misheard sound - or a text - but then the next buzz comes through. Louis can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes him as he gently moves away and picks it up to see who it is. It’s the pub and when he checks the time he sees he’s half an hour late to his shift. Fuck. 

“Shit, Haz, ‘m sorry, I need to take this,” he apologises quickly, looking back at him regretfully. 

Harry, the sweetheart, just smiles a bit, coughing to cover up the awkwardness before waving him off. “Yeah, course, Lou, it’s fine.” 

Louis apologises again, standing up and taking the call in the kitchen, but not without one last look at Harry. He’s sitting on the sofa, biting his lip and twisting the rings adorning his fingers. 

He sighs again, running one hand through his hair, before sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hello?” 

“Louis, where t’fuck are ya?” greets Niall. Louis should have known he would be the cockblock in this situation. 

“I’m sorry, mate, really, just lost track of time, look, I’ll be down there in twenty minutes, yeah?”

Niall huffs, “Alright, ‘s not too busy today so don’t worry about it.” 

“Cheers, man,” Louis turns back to the living room and runs a hand through his hair again. “Ok, yeah, I’ll be there soon.” 

He doesn’t wait for Niall’s reply, instead ends the call and tucks his phone into his jean’s pocket. Fuck’s sake. Louis takes a few seconds to compose himself before walking back to Harry, who smiles at him, a little sadly, a little bittersweet. 

“Fuck, babe, ‘m sorry, I completely forgot I had a shift today and Niall just called and-” 

Harry cuts him off, shaking his head and laughing slightly. “It’s ok, Lou, really. Don’t worry about it.” 

Louis bites his lip a bit, eyes tracing over him. “Yeah?” 

Harry stands up from the sofa, moving to hug him, and saying, face tucked into Louis’ shoulder, “yeah, course.” 

His arms come round to wrap around Harry, holding him for just a second longer, annoyance tinged with regret that he - they - had been so  _ close.  _ Eventually, they part and Louis walks him to the door, thanking him for today and apologising again because he can’t help it. 

It’s awkward at the door and they end up just staring at each other for a moment. Thoughts are running wild in Louis’ head, each one eating over the next, moving too quickly for him to grasp. Do they hug again? Should Louis just go for it and kiss him? Before he can act on either one - he doesn’t even know which - Harry nods at him, a wave of disappointment falling behind his features and turns to walk out the door, leaving him standing alone with a small smile and a “bye, Lou.” 

For a few minutes after he leaves, Louis just stays there, listening blankly as Harry makes his way down the stairs outside his flat. He should shut the door, check the bread, then leave for work. He should move away. He doesn’t. It’s stupid and cliché but Louis doesn;t think twice, following his boy out the door and jogging down the stairs after him, taking them two at a time. 

He catches up with Harry on the second floor but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to. His face clouds with confusion but Louis just strides forward, sliding one hand onto Harry’s waist and another onto the side of his torso, leaning up slightly to press his lips against his. 

Harry melts into it instantly, hand cupping Louis’ jaw like it did back on the sofa, the other running through his hair. Soft lips move gently across Louis’ own, the kiss surprisingly gentle despite the force with which they collided. He coaxes them open with his tongue, tracing along the seam before Harry opens up, letting him slip his tongue into the molten gold inside. He isn’t entirely sure he’s even thinking; mind blissfully blank and content. 

Louis backs Harry up against the stairwell wall, kissing him more determinedly and Harry makes this noise, somewhere between a moan and a whine, tugging on Louis’ hair to pull him even closer. God, he wants to record that noise again and again, have it play on repeat forever. 

Their bodies are pressed up so that there's no space left to fill, Louis’ thigh in between Harry’s legs, hand gripping his waist securely as the other moves comfortingly up and down his side. They kiss almost urgently, tongues sliding filthily against each other and Louis sends a silent prayer that nobody will walk past them. 

He can feel Harry’s heart beating fast, so fast, although it may be his own, he isn’t sure. All he’s sure of is Harry, warm and solid in his arms, mouth hot and wet against his own. Finally, the urgency fades away, the fire dampening, heavy breaths evening out until their lips are just moving against each other, tasting contentedly. 

“This okay?” Louis asks quietly, perhaps about five minutes too late but still, he wants to make sure.

Harry nods, pressing himself into him, eyes fluttering as he speaks. “Yes, yeah, more than.” 

Louis can’t help it then, smiling into his mouth, spilling chuckles into it before pulling away just to rest his forehead against Harry’s. The dimples are back in his cheeks and Louis thumbs over one gently, tearing his eyes away from it to meet Harry’s own. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits, unable to stop smiling even if he wanted to. Harry’s own smile widens, the hand on Louis’ jaw coming round to cup the back of his neck. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, lips brushing over Louis’ again. 

He nods, the movement skating their lips over each other, before he connects them again, licking deeply into Harry’s mouth, teeth clicking slightly. Kissing Harry is something Louis thinks he could never get tired of. 

Eventually, though, Louis pulls away, pressing another kiss to his lips before sighing. “I still have to go to work.” 

Harry laughs at that, loud and bright, running one hand through Louis’ hair before nodding. “Yeah, you should leave. ‘S a shame.” 

Louis huffs out another laugh, leaning in again to kiss him, slower, sweeter this time. 

“I’ll quit tomorrow,” he murmurs into Harry’s mouth, pulling a laugh out of him. 

Harry pushes him away slightly, laughter still tumbling out of his mouth, lips bitten pink and swollen from Louis’ own. It makes his heart stop to see Harry look like that, to know it was because of  _ him.  _

“You should really go,” he reminds him, rolling his eyes when Louis agrees but doesn’t move away. It’s just  _ difficult _ , when Harry’s looking at him all bright and adoring. 

“Okay, okay,” he relents at last, stepping away. Harry’s hand catches in his and he holds onto it tightly, thumb running over the back of it. “Can I call you?” 

“You bloody better.” 

He laughs and Harry pushes himself off the wall, unable to stop smiling as he squeezes Louis’ hand before disentangling them and walking out, leaving Louis staring after him, lips kissed and heart full. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really I hope I did their first kiss justice lol. It was kinda hard to balance what I wanted to write and what would fit with the storyline so I hope it reads ok. Also, I still have quite a lot that I want to do with this fic, so I'm still figuring the characters out a bit. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much if you read this far - again, comments & kudos are appreciated so much, I just re-read the comments whenever I need writing motivation haha.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s been two weeks since their baking date-that-wasn’t-a-date and their kiss. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a longer chapter than usual so hopefully that makes up for the two short ones last week! This took me all day lmfao and I was going to wait to check it the next day but I also wanted to just post it. 
> 
> Also, some background to this fic; I'm aware it hasn't got much plot lol but as it's my first one I wanted it to be kinda short and sweet and somewhere that I could practice my writing. So if you do like my writing style (lmao) keep an eye out for more - better - fics that I'll post when this is finished! Or even during this I might post a few one shots, idk. 
> 
> Anyway, as always, listen to the song at the start if you can, I try and pick them out due to which atmosphere they have and I listen to each one on repeat as I write so the story and the song's vibe kinda matches lol. 
> 
> Finally - sorry, this is so long - I just hope every one is well! Things around the world are pretty crazy right now and I hope you're all staying safe (and speaking out for what matters).

_ Addicted - The Night Cafe _

  
  


“No, I like- um, I like the one of you and Oli, I think it is. Caption says it’s from the first day of high school?” 

“Oh, god. Haz, babe, scroll up, I look like an absolute twat in that- oh, you fucker, you liked it!” 

Harry’s laugh is loud and wonderful in his ear, tumbling out from his phone. 

“Liked and saved,” he replies, laughter swallowing his words. “Alright, alright, um, I like, oh, this one’s nice.” 

“Hmm?” Louis perks up a bit, mentally flicking through his Instagram page, trying to recall every picture he posted ever. “What’s it look like?” 

“Um…” Harry’s voice is deep, clearly distracted by looking through Louis’ account, “It’s got a filter on it - I think. Uh, sort of grainy. Reminds me of the nineties. It’s kinda dark. You’re with some friends and um, there's beer and guitars? I can’t really see.” 

“What’s the caption, love?” 

“Doesn’t have one. Oh- oh, I really like this one. Um- you’re smoking on a balcony, I think. It’s a double shot. In the first one, you’re lighting your cigarette under your shirt. Hang on, I’ll like it.” 

Louis hums, waiting for the notification to pop up. It does after a few seconds -  _ harrystyles liked your post - _ and he clicks on it. 

“Ah, yeah, yeah. I think Zayn took this one. Couple of months ago.” 

“You look hot.”

“Yeah?” Louis huffs out a breath of air that acts as a laugh. 

“Yeah. And in the next one too. You’re framed in a door and um, it’s another double shot. You look like a proper lad.” 

Louis laughs properly at that, loud and unguarded. “Think I actually am, babe.” 

“ ‘S good, then. Love me a lad.” 

“Well, you got one, darlin’.” His voice is tender, hopelessly endeared, and he hears Harry hum happily on the other end of the line.

It’s been two weeks since their baking date-that-wasn’t-a-date and their kiss. They’re not- they’re not, like,  _ going out. _ In all honesty, Louis doesn’t know what they’re doing quite yet. But he likes it, he likes Harry, and, ok, maybe they’re not boyfriends but he doesn't mind right now. Not when they are at each other’s flats half the time and Harry’s his to kiss and cuddle and hold. Louis’ happy doing whatever they’re doing - dancing like deformed lovers in between lines that would only be drawn if they were in a relationship. And they’re not in one, so. 

“You sound sleepy, love.” His voice is too fond for this hour. 

“ ‘m not,” Harry protests and Louis hears him rustling about on the other end of the line. 

“You in bed?” 

“Yeah. Are you not?” 

“Nah, sofa for me.” 

Harry giggles softly, the lateness of the hour showing in the noise. “It’s one thirty in the morning, babe. Get to bed.” 

He likes it when Harry calls him that, could get used to it in fact. 

“What’s the point? You’re not there.” 

The laughter of the other end of his phone is louder this time. “And what difference would me being there make?”

“Warmth. Like a fuckin’ human heater, you are. Get too cold all by meself.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry chuckles, amusement lining his voice.

Louis switches his phone to the other ear, leaning his head against the arm of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. The muted telly flashes colours over the room, too bright for the time.

“Oi, you’re the one who demanded I hold you when you stayed over.” 

“I did not  _ demand _ ,” he tries to defend himself but it doesn’t really work when he starts laughing over the end of the sentence. 

Louis rolls his eyes fondly even though Harry can’t see him. “ ‘s alright. Miss me little spoon.” 

He hears Harry make a soft noise on the other end and smiles slightly to himself. 

“I miss you too. Wanna, um,” he yawns and Louis feels his heart clench with affection. “Sorry, wanna see you soon.” 

“I want to see you too, baby.”

_ Baby.  _ A new addition to the long list of pet names he has for Harry. He knows it’s a particular favourite of Harry’s, doesn’t need him to tell him although he does anyway. 

“Yeah?” 

“What d’you mean ‘yeah’?” Louis scoffs. “Course I do. You know that.” 

Harry laughs a bit again, quieter and sleepier and Louis wishes more than ever that he was sleeping over tonight, so that he could kiss him and hold him until he falls asleep. 

“I know,” he murmurs tiredly. “I want to see you too.” 

Louis huffs out another laugh, knowing Harry’s too close to sleep to remember saying that already.    
  


“Alright, darlin’, I’m gonna hang up, yeah? Talk to you in the morning, alright?” 

“Ok. Ok, let’s...let’s talk in the morning.” 

Louis nods, shaking his head at himself for feeling so bloody  _ endeared _ by this boy, before taking his phone away from his ear and pressing the end call button. The time says they were talking for three and a half hours. 

He falls asleep that night feeling content and happy for the first time in a long time. 

  
  
  


The pub is quiet the next evening; despite it being a Friday night it’s only around six o’clock, so the only people there are the regulars and a few groups of friends eating. Louis has just one more hour on his shift before he leaves to meet Harry and he can’t help glancing at the time every ten minutes in between taking orders and wiping down the bar. 

It’s plainly obvious that all the bartenders know he’s slacking tonight - and they do give him a bit of shit for it - but he can’t help it when he’s not seen his boy for a good few days. 

Not  _ his  _ boy, Louis reminds himself for the umpteenth time, frustrated that his fucking brain can’t seem to wrap itself around that little - but important - fact. 

“Where are you taking him then?” 

“What?” Louis turns around from stacking glasses away to see one of the barmaids and Niall looking at him expectantly. 

“You know, your boyfriend. When you meet him later,” the barmaid, Jesy, prompts. 

Louis sighs, leaning back against the bar and chucking the towel that was slung over his shoulder down onto the shiny mahogany top. “ ‘ve told you before, he’s not me boyfriend. And,” he continues, raising his voice over Niall’s sceptical noises, “we’re just gonna grab a takeaway and have it at mine. Like  _ friends, _ which we are.” 

“Oh, come off it, mate,” Niall shakes his head at him, grabbing a bag of Walkers crisps from under the bar. “What kind of friends  _ kiss  _ and cuddle and, jesus, the sexual tension between you two when he was in here on Tuesday? You were eye-fucking him right over the bar.” 

Louis kind of wishes he had actually been fucking him over the bar. But not, like, when everyone was there, obviously. 

Jesy laughs, grabbing a handful of Niall’s crisps for herself and silencing his angry protests with a nipple pinch. “Come on, Lou, maybe you’re not boyfriends yet, I don’t know-”

“We’re not,” interrupts Louis swiftly.

“- _ but, _ ” she goes on, giving him a withering look, “you must be at least friends-with-benefits.” 

_ “What?” _ scoffs Louis, “Look, not that it’s any of your business, but we haven’t even slept together, so.” 

Eyes wide, Niall does a double-take. “Are you serious? Fuckin’ christ, man, if I were you and hadn’t shagged out all the sexual tension that you two obviously have, I reckon I’d self-combust. Or me dick would, at least.” he added thoughtfully. 

“Right, well,” mutters Louis, feeling a bit aggravated by the entire conversation, “not that this hasn’t been enjoyable but I have to leave now.” 

“Oh yeah, for your non-date with your non-boyfriend,” grins Niall smugly, clearly happy with himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off now, Ni,” Louis flips him off distractedly, raising a hand in good-bye to the other bartmaids before pushing open the door that leads behind the bar and into the back rooms. 

It’s not as if the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, to be honest. Just,  _ hearing _ them say it, is worse than him simply mulling the idea over. What  _ are _ they doing? Harry and him, that is? Does Louis want him as a boyfriend? Of course. But does Harry want him? That Louis’ not so sure about. And why bring it up? Why ruin what they’re doing right now? 

Louis’ happy, for the first time in a while, and he knows Harry is too, and therefore, why would he shatter something that is so new and wonderful? It seems a bit pointless, is all. 

Still, the thought lingers on the frayed edges of his mind like a particularly stubborn rash of mould. Harry lives about twenty minutes away from the pub and so he takes his car over, dangling a lit cigarette loosely between two fingers. The summer breeze ruffles in through the open window, the smoke from his fag fluttering thinly through the air. 

He passes one of the roads that leads to the A1 on his left and turns right from it, taking a drag and exhaling as he does so. The sky above him is a beautiful light purple, a sweet lavender, although the trees obscure some of it. He checks the time on his dashboard and the clock reads 19:13. Jesy and Niall’s words from earlier are playing loudly in his ears so he switches on BBC Radio 1 in an attempt to try and drown them out. 

By twenty-five past seven, he’s almost at Harry’s flat and he parks his car by a Chinese takeaway before picking up his phone and calling him. 

He answers on the third ring. “Hi, Lou, you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis’ quick to reassure him, “Just outside the chinese, babe, what do you want?” 

“Oh, just, um, the egg fried rice with some vegetable noodles? No meat or anything.” 

Louis smiles, nodding to himself, “yeah, vegetarian, I know, love. That all?” 

Harry’s voice is sweet when he answers, “Yeah, thank you, Louis. Listen, grab a receipt, will you? I want to pay you back.” 

He rolls his eyes, opening his car door and stepping out before closing it with a slam. “Sure, darlin’, I’ll remember this time.” 

“Lou, I’m serious. You never let me pay for anything. It’s making me feel guilty.” 

Grinding out his cigarette with the bottom of his shoe, Louis just hums, practically feeling Harry roll his own eyes on the other end. “Course, I will. Promise. Right, I’m heading in now, be at yours in ten.” 

“Ok,” Harry sounds reluctant to let him go and Louis chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls his phone away from his ear and ends the call himself. 

When he’s inside, he orders quickly - two portions of egg fried rice, vegetable noodles for Harry and roast duck noodles for himself - and then sits down on one of the waiting seats, legs wide as he leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, phone in his hands as he texts. 

_ Just ordered love, you wanted beef yeah?  _

_ I hate you. _

_ You better be joking.  _

_ Course I am. Wish I’d saved it for when I saw your face tho _

_ You’re lucky I like you so much.  _

Louis thinks his chest actually constricts at that message and he’s thinking of a reply when the woman behind the counter calls him over to take his food. 

_ :) just leaving, be at urs soon x _

He grabs the takeaway bag, paying quickly and thanking her briefly before walking back outside and into his car. He doesn’t bother to check if Harry’s replied, knowing he’ll see him soon anyway. 

The food smells unbelievably good from where it’s sitting in the passenger seat next to him and Louis’ grateful when he reaches Harry’s road, driving until he reaches number 34. He climbs out of the car, grabbing the food and slamming the door shut behind him before jogging up to the front door. He presses the buzzer for flat 2A, where  _ Styles  _ is scrolled on the little name section. Another reason why Louis prefers staying at Harry’s than at his place; no roommates.

Harry doesn’t bother answering in it and must just buzz him straight in because the door clicks open after a few seconds and Louis walks into the stairwell. He jogs up the two flights of stairs until he’s at the second floor where he pauses, running one hand through his hair before knocking on the door. 

It’s barely two seconds before Harry opens it, backing up slightly so that he can walk in. 

“Oh fuck, that chinese smells amazing,” is Harry’s first words and Louis laughs, handing him the bag, slipping his Vans off and following him to the kitchen, closing the front door behind them. 

“You’d think I was just the delivery boy, honestly, babe,” Louis teases amusedly, watching as Harry sets the bag onto the table and unpacks it. 

“You would make a hot delivery boy,” hums Harry thoughtfully, looking up at him and letting his eyes scan appreciatively over his body. 

Louis rolls his eyes, smirking slightly, as he moves over to where Harry’s now rifling through the cutlery draw. 

“And does the hot delivery boy get a thankyou for delivering your food?” he wonders, coming behind Harry to crowd him against the counter. 

Harry laughs quietly, turning around in Louis’ arms to face him, letting Louis walk him backwards so that the drawer slides smoothly shut. 

“I guess so,” he draws out, voice ridiculously deep and slow. 

“Oh, you guess so, do you?” 

They’re both smiling, eyes caught on one another like there’s no one else worthy of their attention. Louis can’t help but stare at Harry, the prettiest little thing, standing in between him and the counter. It’s only then that he takes in what he looks like; his hair is curlier than he’s ever seen it, soft brown ringlets framing his face. 

He’s wearing this, fuck, this cardigan, all knitted and multi-coloured and  _ shit _ , Louis wants to kiss him right now. It’s ridiculous, actually, because it’s a bloody  _ cardigan _ , maybe something a grandma would wear, but on Harry, it makes him look even more soft and cuddly than he already is. 

Louis drags his eyes up to where Harry’s still watching him, eyes a little hooded and fixed on his face, teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“You look pretty,” Louis murmurs, voice quiet as he watches Harry blush a bit. He must’ve complimented him thousands of times already but still,  _ still, _ he always blushes like they’ve just met.

“You look fit,” Harry returns, a loud laugh escaping him as Louis wrinkles his nose, eyes bright and playful. 

“Fit? I say you look pretty and you give me fit?” 

Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to formulate a proper response it seems and Louis lets his hands move to his hips, caressing them gently through the knitted material of the cardigan. 

“Well, you do,” he chuckles, his own hands interlaced behind Louis’ neck, “very manly. My manly man.” 

Louis laughs a bit at that, finally leaning over and letting his lips just join with Harry’s. “Your manly man, is that right?” 

Harry hums in confirmation, pulling Louis closer so that he can properly kiss him. And this-  _ this _ is what Louis’ missed; holding Harry close, licking into his mouth and swallowing up every sigh, every noise of content. He can hear Harry’s indie music playing from somewhere behind him, vaguely recognising the tune, before tracing his tongue across the joint of his pillowy lips, begging for an invitation. 

Harry does let out a little sigh as soon as Louis slips his tongue inside, wiggling happily in his arms when one of his hands drops down to grope at his arse. Louis lives for that noise, honestly. He can feel Harry’s hand where the palm is grazing against his stubble and dips a little deeper into the cave of his mouth, sucking on his tongue as his own hand that isn’t preoccupied with Harry’s bum rubs up and down his side affectionately. 

The sky’s still a gorgeous purple from outside the window above the sink and Louis presses Harry deeper against the counter, making him pour a quiet moan right into his mouth. 

“Missed you so much,” Louis pulls away to say, eyes tracking over Harry’s face to see blown eyes and swollen lips. 

“I missed you too,” he nods, thumb rubbing over Louis’ cheekbone, “had to actually go out to get my own food without my delivery boy, you know.” 

Louis laughs, ducking back to kiss the smug smile off Harry’s face, teeth clinking against each other. “Must’ve been a real grievance for you.” 

Whatever Harry was going to reply is cut off when Louis kisses him again, softer this time, slipping him the tongue gently, cupping his face. They stay like that for a while, just enjoying each other in the summer’s evening light before eventually Harry pulls away, laughing at the pout on Louis’ face. 

“Come on, the food will get cold.” 

“Swear you care about that food more than you care about me.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

They end up taking the chinese into the living room, lounging on the sofa with the telly on as they eat it, laughing and chatting as the evening slides down from the sky, painting the room in a fusion of beautiful colours. 

It's peaceful, is the thing, sitting here with a takeout box in his lap and Harry under his arm. Louis’ just so content right now, watching him try and pick up his noodles with the little wooden chopsticks, an old episode of Gogglebox playing over Harry’s indie music that’s still drifting in from the kitchen.

“I mean, come on, babe, you honestly can’t tell me that every single one of yours actually means something.” 

Harry looks up at him from where he’s cuddled under his arm, expression highly amused. 

“What, and your tattoos don’t?” 

“No,” Louis shrugs, chuckling as he watches Harry let out a surprised laugh at his bluntness. 

“How many of them mean something, then, as a percentage?” 

Louis leans his head back against the arm of the sofa, feeling Harry’s eyes on him. “Well, a lot. About eighty percent, yeah. Uh- the rogue tat on me ankles, that one does.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Harry tilts his head to the side, leaning over and placing his finished takeaway box on the coffee table before settling himself on Louis’ chest, head resting there, fingers tracing the  _ it is what is  _ as the rest of his body lies between Louis’ open legs. 

Louis nods, running one hand through Harry’s curls and smiling when he leans into his touch. “Yeah, played in a band called The Rogue when I was in school. Wrote some bangers, I did.” 

Harry smiles up at him, blinking slowly, eyes looking like pools of amber-green. “You need to play them for me sometime. Sing them.” 

Louis laughs, shaking his head a bit as he runs one hand over the expanse of Harry’s back. “I don’t know, love. Maybe.” 

It’s quiet for a bit and Louis lets himself enjoy the feeling of being so close with another person, so close with another person that he cares so deeply for.

“I was in a band too,” Harry recalls, making Louis glance down at him. 

“Really? Bet you were a proper heartthrob with all the girls, Styles.” 

He laughs at that, shaking his head at his words, “No, not really. Well, I dunno, actually, it was only for a short time.” 

Louis studies him for a moment; the way his eyes are clouded with memory, a small smile playing on his lips. “What did you play? Or did you sing?” 

“Um, both. Mainly sung though. I, uh,” he huffs out a laugh, “I actually entered that X Factor show when I was sixteen. Didn’t win, of course.” 

Louis feels his chest clench suddenly and he straightens up a bit. “Fuck off, you entered the X Factor? Uh- what would it have been, 2010? Was that the year?” 

Harry stares at him, face a little confused as he thinks it over before nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I was sixteen then. So, yeah, it would have been. Why?” 

“I entered too that year. Was actually a joke between me and me mates. We’d gotten drunk and I entered and just went along with it the next morning. I think it was because me Mam was really excited and I didn’t wanna disappoint her by telling her I was completely off me face when I signed up.” 

Harry stares at him for a second, expression soft as his eyes trace all over Louis’ face. “I can’t believe we both entered. Imagine if we’d met.” 

Louis laughs quietly, exhaling thoughtfully as he does so. “Glad you hadn’t seen me at eighteen, to be honest. Proper knob, I looked. Bet you looked well cute though.” he adds, glancing down at Harry.

He laughs, settling down on Louis’ chest again, smiling when Louis’ hands resume their petting. “No,” he disagrees, “I looked bloody awful, had these stupid curls-” 

“What, these sweet little ringlets?” Louis interrupts, smiling as he strokes his hand through said hair. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “They were wild back then. And, god, the clothes I used to wear.” 

“The first thing I noticed about you was the clothes you were wearing, actually. Flares ‘nd that.” 

“Really? Did you like them?” asks Harry, frowning slightly. 

“Fuck, yes,” Louis nods, “did you know that your arse looks fantastic in flares?” 

Harry gasp, a laugh tumbling out along with it as he pokes Louis’ chest. “You been staring at my bum, Tomlinson?” 

“Guilty,” Louis smirks, letting the hand on Harry’s back move down and pinch his bum, just to demonstrate the point. It doesn’t work out too well, though, because Harry shifts into the touch and he ends up just keeping his hand there. 

“I quite like it when you touch my arse,” says Harry thoughtfully, smiling and nibbling on his thumb nail, it’s lavender coloured polish chipping slightly from his teeth. 

Louis hums in the back of his throat. “I know you do, baby,” he glances down to see Harry looking at him and he swallows, a lump rising in his throat suddenly. “Kiss me?” 

Nodding, Harry’s smile widens before he cups Louis’ jaw in one hand and tilts his head down slightly, lips moving against each other gently, soothingly. The wet slide of their tongues is comforting, as strange as it sounds, and Louis squeezes his bum once more before moving his hands up onto Harry’s hips. 

Harry’s hands are lost in his hair, fingers running through the strands, scratching lightly as Louis kisses him deeper, gripping his hips harder as he gently shifts their position until Harry’s the one underneath, his back resting horizontally against the arm of the sofa, legs wrapped around Louis’ waist from where he’s hovering over him. 

“God, look at you,” he pulls away to murmur, taking one hand off Harry’s hip to run through his hair, the curls messy. “You don’t know how happy I am that I was the one smoking in the alley that night.” 

Harry laughs a bit at that, fingers threading themselves deeper in Louis’ hair as he lowers himself down again, kissing along Harry’s jaw. 

“Me too,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut as Louis digs his fingers into the soft skin of his hips, one hand gently stroking underneath his t-shirt, thumb rubbing affectionate circles onto the warm skin there. 

“Yeah?” Louis nips at the skin just beneath the joint of Harry’s jaw and his neck, feeling him jolt slightly in his arms and mentally saving that information for later. “What did you notice, when you saw me, before you-” he huffs out an amused breath of air - “fell?” 

“God, Louis, I-” Harry cuts himself off with a small noise, caught somewhere between a moan and a whine, as Louis lowers his mouth onto his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin beneath his ear. “Fuck, you looked really hot, your, jesus- your scruff, I liked.” 

He’s breathless, moving underneath him, and Louis finishes the lovebite, moving back to admire it before dipping down again, kissing his way down Harry’s jugular, scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin there. 

“You liked that, did you? Why?” he presses, smirking to himself when he hears Harry groan a bit. 

“Wanted to- fuck,  _ Louis, _ ” Harry lets one of his hands roam over Louis’ back, dipping under the bottom of his t-shirt as Louis sucks another bruise onto his neck, this time just above the knot of his collarbones. “Like feeling it on- on my hands when I kiss you, jesus, and um, wanted- want to feel it on, fuck, on my thighs if you were-” 

Louis sits up abruptly, staring down at Harry with hooded eyes. He’s still breathing heavily, they both are, and Harry looks at him, biting his lip as he blushes slightly, probably wondering if he’s said too much. 

“That’s so fucking hot, that-  _ you’re  _ so fucking hot, jesus,” Louis’ voice sounds rough to his own ears so he isn’t surprised when Harry shivers before leaning up to kiss him, choppily, desperately, as if they don’t have all the time in the world. 

Louis grips his hips again, pressing down on one of the lovebites with his fingertip so that Harry opens his mouth on a moan that he swallows, sucking on his tongue. Eventually they calm down, heavy breaths reduced just to chests rising and falling, hands straying onto more innocent purchases until they’re only lazily making out on the sofa, the night sky a deep blue outside. 

And it’s nice - of  _ course  _ it is, how can it not be, when Louis’ got a lapful of the prettiest lad and they’re kissing - but, well, Louis’ not going to lie and say he hasn’t thought about having sex with Harry. Because he has, especially since they first kissed half a month ago, and more often than not it ends with him having a good, hard wank. 

But he doesn’t want to just fuck Harry, dirty and rough and over before he knows it. No, Louis wants to go as slow as Harry wants and if Harry wants to wait until they’re actually, properly dating then so be it. It sounds sappy, maybe, and he’s never really been a sappy person but around Harry that seems to be all he is, so. 

At around 10 o’clock, maybe a bit later, Harry pulls away from Louis’ mouth where they’ve been softly kissing for a while, lazy in their movements. 

They’re lying horizontally across from each other now, bodies parallel on the comfortable sofa. Hands tucked under his head in the typical “sleeping” position, Harry looks at him, eyes dark in the light. They should probably switch a lamp on but the telly has enough glow for now. 

“What are you thinking?” Louis murmurs, stroking gently over his hip. 

Harry swallows and it looks like he’s about to say something before he dismisses whatever it was. “Stay over tonight.” 

Louis moves back slightly, surprised - happy but nonetheless surprised. Harry has slept over at his flat a few times but Louis’ never stayed at his for the night. It wasn’t this whole unspoken rule or something; they just never had it happen, he supposes.

“Yeah,” he whispers softly now, “yeah, alright. If you’ll have me.” 

Harry smiles at that, dimples looking even bigger in the shadows, “Thank you.” 

“Reckon it should be me thanking you, baby.” 

They don’t say anything for a while after that, mouths preoccupied with each other instead, but Louis distinctly thinks, as Harry shifts closer again, kissing him deeper, the lateness of the hour evident in both of their movements, that tonight feels like a turning point somehow. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will pick up right as this chapter left off, by the way. As always, comments/kudos I appreciate so much, they literally make my day lmao. If you have any thoughts (good or bad) about the fic - is it moving too slow? too fast? what more/less do you want to read about? - please drop them below, it would be so helpful to hear your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Late nights with Harry are street lamps from outside brushing filmy orange light onto dark walls, steaming cups of tea brewing on the kitchen table as the city sleeps outside, laughter stifled into each other’s shoulders beneath blankets. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous about this chapter; I feel like it's not my best work but I was torn between taking another few days to write it again or just getting it up, so I'm sorry if it feels like a bit of a disappointment :( 
> 
> There probably won't be too many chapters left of this fic and I have more ideas for one shots and actually another chaptered fic already which I'm kinda excited about. Anyway, I love the song at the start and I really think it goes with this chapter so give it a listen as you read if you can!

_ Call Me Lover - Sam Fender  _

  
  


It’s past eleven when they eventually drag themselves away from their snug haven that is the sofa. They make their way to the bedroom as one, unable to keep their hands off each other even though they’re innocent in their touches. Louis doesn’t ever want to move away from him, instead would willingly reside in this night forever. 

It’s just- late nights with Harry are beautiful. Late nights with Harry are street lamps from outside brushing filmy orange light onto dark walls, steaming cups of tea brewing on the kitchen table as the city sleeps outside, laughter stifled into each other’s shoulders beneath blankets. 

They’re sheets that look blue in misty 1AM light and the all encompassing feeling that they have the whole night still together, hours and hours of darkness to hide beneath. 

Right now, though, they’ve made it back to Harry’s bedroom, hanging off each other like children as he pushes the door open. 

Louis whistles lowly, walking into the room and turning around in an exaggerated 360 degrees. “So this is the famous bachelor pad then, Styles.”

Shaking his head, Harry lets out a fresh wave of laughter, eyes bright with amusement as he follows him inside. “It is not a bloody bachelor pad, Louis, it’s my  _ bedroom. _ ” 

Grinning, Louis looks up from where he’d been staring down at the silent road from the window. “I know, darlin’, I’m only messing with ya.” 

He moves away, lying back on the bed instead, staring at the ceiling before smiling when Harry joins him. “So, this is where you bring back all the lads, hmm?” 

Louis hears Harry’s laughter before he sees it, glancing up to where he’s lying on his stomach next to him, propped up on his elbows, cheeks dimpled with a faint pink visible on them. 

“Only one lad,” Harry corrects after he’s recovered a bit, little giggles still slipping through in between his words. It really shouldn’t make Louis’ gaze soften from where it’s set on him, but it does. 

He nods, swallowing hard, looking away to the ceiling again before glancing back at Harry, an amused smile lilting his lips when he sees the sleepy expression on his face.    
  


“You look tired,” he tells him, rolling his eyes when Harry shakes his head. Louis lifts one arm up, “Come cuddle, babe. Go to sleep, if you need to, yeah?” 

Harry moves to come closer before pulling away. “Wait, we need to get changed. If you let me go to sleep now, there’s no chance I’ll wake up until morning.” 

Louis shakes his head, the idea of moving away from such a comfortable position unappealing to him. “Nah, I’ll wake you up, love. It’s fine, c’mere.” 

The soft smile he gets from Harry is enough to make Louis think he’ll stay but then he sighs, getting up off the bed and walking around to the chest of drawers that sits on one side of the bed. 

“No, it won’t work, you always make me sleepy.” 

Louis props his head up, hands linked behind his head as he watches him grab clothes from the drawers. “Well, I can’t hear that enough.” 

Harry looks over at him, laughing when he sees his slightly disgruntled expression, before moving closer and leaning over the bed to kiss him consolingly. “No, you know what I mean,” he chuckles when Louis raises his eyebrows, chasing his lips and huffing when Harry moves away. 

“It’s not  _ you _ that makes me sleepy, babe,” Harry explains and Louis watches as he just-  _ strips  _ right in front of him. Well, he’s not really stripping, only peeling off his jeans while keeping his boxer-briefs on but  _ still. _ Louis’ seen him shirtless, he’s seen him in just his underwear but he hasn't seen him naked - yet, he hopes - and he’s not sure if he’s allowed. 

Harry isn't facing him, clad now in only the boxer-briefs, his other clothes folded neatly on the armchair near the window. Louis swallows, letting his eyes trail over his skin, milky and pale, dark tattoos winding over it in a sharp contrast. 

He tries to look away, focus his gaze on something more innocent, but then Harry bends  _ over _ \- not just slightly either, he bends right down to rifle through the bottom draw, without bending his legs or anything, spurring a series of explicit situations to run through Louis’ head. 

He’s half sure Harry’s doing it on purpose, too, because he runs one hand over his back, dropping it back down when it reaches the swell of his bum, like he just wants Louis’ attention drawn there.  _ Christ. _

“So, really, it’s not actually you, it’s just that whenever you hold me, it makes me very relaxed and then sleepy,” Harry straightens up and turns around, slipping an old band t-shirt on as he does so. 

Louis hastily retracts his gaze and tries to pretend he was looking at the Fleetwood Mac poster on the wall, but it probably doesn't work because Harry’s got a shit-eating grin on his face as he climbs back into bed, this time under the sheets. 

“Yep, that’s- you’re right, babe,” Louis stumbles over his words a bit, forgetting what they were even talking about as the image of Harry bent over, perky arse on display, still plays in the forefront of his mind. 

Harry hums, eyebrows raised like he knows exactly why Louis’ distracted. He probably does, is the thing. 

“Thought you were gonna cuddle me,” he says a second later and, when Louis looks down at him, he’s pouting, making him melt just a little bit more. 

“Course I will, sweetheart, hang on, lemme just…” he doesn't finish his sentence, leaning away from Harry to turn the bedside lamp off. The darkness that reveals itself after the light is distinguished is cooling, a grainy blend of dark blue and grey. 

Louis rolls back over, facing Harry once more before sitting up, the sheets pooling at his waits. He can feel his eyes on him as he shrugs his hoodie over his head, leaving him shirtless in his joggers. 

Tucking himself back under the duvet, he opens his arms, gesturing for Harry to move closer. He does so, dimples carving themselves into his cheeks as he snuggles into Louis’ arms, facing him this time, one hand running over the side of his torso. 

“Thought you were sleepy,” Louis huffs out a laugh when Harry’s hand dips dangerously close to the waistband of his sweats. 

“Mmm,” Harry shrugs, biting the soft cushion of his lower lip as he watches Louis. “Guess I’m not anymore.” 

Rolling over so that he’s lying on his back, hands propping his head up again, Louis spares him a glance, amusement written all over his features. “Fuckin’ minx, you are.” 

Harry lets out a surprise squawk of laughter, digging his hand into Louis’ side in retaliation, making him swat at it before laughing as well. Once it fades to breathy chuckles, Louis looks over at him, properly this time, tenderness residing in the blue of his eyes. 

Harry tilts his head to the side, eyes tracing over him as they watch each other quietly. Louis reaches one hand over to brush through his hair, fingers lightly scratching at the scalp just to see Harry’s eyes flutter closed. 

It’s not a hard decision when he leans over, pressing his lips insistently to Harry’s, prising them open gently. As always, he opens up willingly, moving against Louis so that he can hover over him, kissing him firmly yet calmly, tongues sliding quietly against one another. 

It’s almost powerful; lying here in the darkness of Harry’s London flat, hands roaming beneath the bed sheets as they move together. 

It’s only when Harry starts to get a little more desperate, small whines slipping out of his mouth as he bites down on Louis’ lip, rocking his hips against him, that he pulls away only to keep their foreheads pressed together. 

“Haz, babe,” he breathes, carefully choosing his words. “You alright? I don’t wanna…” 

_ Do anything we’ll regret.  _ He trails off, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to word it, so instead he just settles his hands on Harry’s hips, holding him securely. 

“I want- I want to,” Harry begins, exhaling shakily, before shaking his head slightly. Louis makes a soft noise of encouragement, squeezing his hips lightly and Harry looks at him, pupils wide from the hour. 

“I wanna suck you off,” he blurts out, cheeks blushing so heavily that Louis can see it in the dim light. “If- if you’ll let me,” he adds, insecurity wedged deep in his voice. 

“If I’ll let you- what, babe, of course, fuck, of  _ course  _ I want that if you do,” Louis reassures him desperately, stumbling over his words in his haste, but it’s worth it when Harry smiles, dopily almost, murmuring a quiet, happy noise before reconnecting their lips like it’s the only thing that matters. 

When Harry kisses him it’s with more force, more determination, this time, backing him right down against the pillows. Louis doesn’t even know where his own hands are on Harry until he whines into his mouth, pushing his arse back into them. 

He can feel every part of where they’re touching, every supple patch of skin and he finds himself kissing Harry with more vigour, desperately, as if they don’t have tonight and tomorrow and every hour after that. 

Louis’ not sure if the noises he can hear are from him or Harry or both of them but he doesn’t care, hands gripping him tighter as blood thumps in his ears, drowning out every thought and reducing him only to his senses. 

Harry’s hand palming his half-hard cock over his joggers is sudden and Louis huffs out a laugh into his mouth, bucking his hips up slightly to create more friction. 

“Fuckin’ hell, babe, warn a lad.” 

Harry laughs properly at that, pulling away slightly and biting his lip to contain more chuckles. “Louis Tomlinson, I’m going to touch your dick now,” he says seriously, making Louis roll his eyes, cup his face to bring him in again. 

“Such a dork,” he murmurs fondly, shaking his head slightly. They kiss messily for a while, sheets making them almost unbearably hot. Eventually Harry pulls away, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Louis’ joggers before glancing up at him to make sure. 

He nods, lifting his hips up so that he can drag the material down, letting his cock spring free. It lays hot and hard against his stomach, coloured an angry red and honestly, Louis just needed Harry’s mouth on him, like, yesterday. 

He hears him suck in a breath and glances down to him. 

Harry looks up at him, biting his lip, before huffing out something that could be a laugh if it didn't have the underlying nerves to it. “Fuck, you’re, um- you’re big.” 

There’s the same traces of insecurity to his admission and Louis sits up a bit, running one hand through Harry’s hair, thumbing over his cheekbone. “Hey, love, it’s okay, yeah? I can just get meself off, alright, don’t worry about it, darlin’.” 

Harry shakes his head adamantly, a flash of determination crossing his face. “No, Lou, I want to do it, god, I’ve wanted to suck you off for so long, I’m gonna.” 

The knowledge of that makes Louis’ stomach squeeze, a wave of  _ something  _ running through him. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it though, because Harry gets a hand around him, jerking him off slowly, thumb swiping over the head to make Louis hiss. 

“Fuck, Haz, come on, babe, fucking-,” Louis knows this will probably be over embarrassingly quickly if he keeps teasing him like this and he sighs in relief when Harry lowers his mouth onto his cock. 

Harry swirls his tongue around the head, still teasing, suckling on the tip and making these  _ sinful  _ noises that Louis thinks he could come from listening to alone. 

“Jesus  _ christ, _ ” he moans loudly when Harry takes him down another few inches, hollowing his cheeks as his tongue laps over the vein on the underside of his cock.

“Fuck, baby, yeah, that’s it,” Louis reaches down, threading one hand through Harry’s hair without pushing him, simply guiding him gently. Heat’s pooling inside his veins, thrumming like the beat of a drum and he lets his eyes close, blood rushing south as Harry bobs his head up and down, slurping loudly as he sucks on the sensitive tip before dipping back to take him further into his mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah, god, you’re doing so well, darlin’,” Louis’ running his mouth, babbling out praise that has Harry redoubling his efforts, eyelashes flickering against his cheek. 

He deep throats him suddenly and Louis has to physically stop himself from coming right there and then when he feels Harry’s throat flutter around his cock, keeping him there and swallowing around him for a few seconds before bobbing back up to lap over the head, pumping him quickly with his hand before going back down on him again. 

“Fuckin’ hell,  _ baby, _ that’s it, shit, so good,” Louis looks down and bites his lip, revelling in the sight before him; Harry’s cheeks are flushed, hollowed obsecenly, tear tracks glittering on them, eyes glassy. Louis shifts his hand from his hair, tracing over where he can feel himself in Harry’s mouth, swearing quietly. 

It’s filthy, the things Harry’s mouth is doing, the tight, smooth heat that’s surrounding him completely. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open; the temptation to just sink right into this all encompassing sensation almost unbearable. 

“Doing so well, babe, making me feel so good,” he tells him, groaning when Harry sucks him down further. It’s only then that he sees Harry’s hips are moving frantically, rocking down on Louis’ leg for some kind of friction. 

And if that's not the hottest thing he’s ever seen, then he doesn’t know what is. 

“Fuck, love, look at you, look so gorgeous,” he grits his teeth to keep from shouting out when Harry moans around him, the vibration bringing him that much closer to the edge. 

“That’s it, babe, use me leg to get off, look so hot, gonna make me come so hard,” he’s saying the first thing that pops into his head, cutting himself off with a moan as Harry deepthroats him until his nose is pressed against his abdomen, throat fluttering like a humming-bird’s wings around him. 

He’s so close, blood roaring in his ears, fire ripping through his veins as that familiar heat tightens in his lower stomach. Louis can feel himself teetering on that precipice, that knife-edge, hurtling towards his orgasm faster than he can think. 

All it takes is Harry looking up at him, pupils blown and eyes glassy, for him to come; spilling down his throat with a shout, satisfaction and something else crashing over him in waves. 

Harry swallows every drop of it, gently pulling off and tucking Louis back into his joggers before crawling back up. 

He opens his arms and Harry snuggles in, burrowing into his neck as he does so. 

“Good?” he asks and Louis feels his spent dick twitch pathetically at how fucked his voice is, deep and croaky. 

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he kisses his forehead, one of his hands travelling down to Harry’s hip, gently lifting up his oversized t-shirt. “Let me take care of you now, yeah, baby?” 

Harry whines, curling into him like he’s trying to make himself smaller in Louis’ arms. “Please,” he whispers, before chuckling thinly, “might not last long, though.” 

Louis laughs gently, turning them over so that Harry’s on his back, fingers dipping down to carefully move his boxers further down his legs. “I don’t care, just wanna make you feel good,” he tells him, smiling when Harry makes a soft noise. 

Once his boxer-briefs are gone, Louis wraps a hand around his cock, pumping slowly to make Harry shake and tremble beneath him. 

“God, Lou, c’mon, please, not gonna last, please,” he sounds so desperate that Louis takes pity on him, beginning to tug him off faster. He builds up a pace that has Harry moaning underneath him, kissing him fervently as he does so. 

He twists his wrist, thumb swiping over the head so that Harry whimpers, clutching at him and panting loudly. 

“Fuck, LouisLouis _ Louis _ ,” Harry moans brokenly, shifting his hips up and fucking into Louis’ fist, eyes closed as his mouth drops open. 

Louis kisses him, pulling away and speeding up his hand so that Harry arches into him. 

“Yeah, is that it, baby? You gonna come?” 

“Yes, yes,” Harry cuts himself off as Louis flicks his wrist, loosening and then tightening his grip in quick succession. 

“Thought about you like this so often, you know, all desperate and lovely,” Louis tells him, watching as Harry bites back a whimper, whine, moan, clearly hanging onto his every word. “Thought about how you’d sound, what you’d look like, all spread out underneath me.” 

Harry moans loudly at that and Louis speeds up his fist, watching as he fucks himself up into his hand. He suddenly reaches his other hand over behind him, spreading his cheeks roughly and pressing one blunt finger against his hole, not inside, just massaging the rim teasingly. 

He looks every bit the the celestial angel (curls tufting out of his head sweetly, lips bitten pink and plump, eyelashes beaded with tears and clumped together) and the hellish devil (flushed cheeks, desperately moving back and forth between his finger and his hand, wild eyes) all at once. 

“ _ Louis,  _ fuck, yes, shit, ‘m close,” Harry presses down against his finger, whining when Louis doesn’t nudge it inside, whilst simultaneously trying to keep the friction on his cock. 

“Thought about taking you from behind,” Louis continues, watching in awe as Harry twists his body, fruitlessly trying to chase both feelings at once. “About how you’d feel around me, how well you’d take me, darlin’.” 

Moaning, Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck, breathing heavily. He can feel him trembling, thighs shaking, as Louis sparks intensity inside him from two different points. Gathering precome from where it’s blurting out of the tip, Louis jerks him off at a faster pace, the wet slap of skin on skin accompanying Harry’s whimpered pants. 

It’s only when he finally edges just the tip of his finger inside his hole, careful not to hurt him, that Harry freezes up and comes, spilling into his hand with a shout of Louis’ name. 

“So beautiful,” Louis murmurs softly, brushing Harry’s hair out of his face as he comes down from his high. “Don’t know how I got so lucky.” 

Harry’s still panting as he moves up to kiss him, gently, their lips moving softly against each other, too innocent for what they’ve just done. He moves away, placating Harry when he makes a questioning noise, going into the bathroom and grabbing a damp flannel before retreating back to bed. 

“We need to change the sheets, babe,” he tells him, laughing when Harry shakes his head, slumping further into the pillows. 

“Don’t care… do it in the morning,” Harry smiles softly at him when he cleans him up, wiping the drying come off his stomach.

“Thankyou,” he says, once Louis’ gotten rid of the cloth and has joined him back under the covers. 

They’re cuddled up against each other, legs tangled together like neither of them can bear for there to be even a small gap between them. 

“For what?” Louis mumbles into his hair, palm rubbing small circles onto Harry’s stomach as he spoons him. He feels it when Harry shrugs and the vibration from his back as he speaks. 

“Just...being here,” he replies, voice slow and deep. Louis doesn’t answer, only tightens his grip, curling infinitely tighter around him. The sleep that veils them both soon after is dreamless and tranquil, serene under the moon’s gaze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh okay, please PLEASE tell me your thoughts on this one! again, I feel like it's not my best work so apologies:(( also, how would y'all feel about a chapter from Harry's point of view or nah?
> 
> if you have any ideas for this fic drop them below but also comment if you didn't like this chapter because I could delete it and then write it again idk. 
> 
> also, to anyone who reads this fic, I wrote a small one shot a few days ago so check that out if you want <3 as always, thank you so much for reading and for every kudos/comment/hit, they mean the world (as u can probably tell from my replies lmao)


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